Darker Shade of Pale
by LoveThemWinchesters
Summary: Dean has been harboring a secret since he was 4 yrs old. After that fateful night back on Nov 2, 1983, a haunting figure came to him. Over the years, he's seen less and less of this 'someone', but every time 'he' comes back, Dean finds his ability to survive the encounter tested. (See inside for full summary)
1. Chapter 1

**Full Summary: **Dean has been harboring a secret since he was 4 years old. After that fateful night back on November 2, 1983, a haunting figure came to him. Over the years, he's seen less and less of this 'someone', but every time _he_ comes back, Dean finds his ability to survive the encounter tested. The hunter knows the last day he saw _him_: August 28, 2002, the day Sam left for Stanford, just over three years ago; the date was carved in Dean's memory like the epitaph on a granite tombstone. And now _he_'s back…with a vengeance. (Sam is 22. Dean is 26. Set in very early Season 1.)

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**Disclaimer: **As usual, the boys and Supernatural belong to the CW and Kripke. I like to just have a little fun with them once in a while.

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**Author's Notes: **There is so much info out there on Slenderman. I did tons of research on him before writing this and came up with 10 typed pages of facts to work with, a treasure trove full of fun (and that was after I narrowed it down from closer to 20 pages). The above only scratches the surface of what he's all about. I've weaved a story together from what I've learned and this is what I came up with. I hope you enjoy.

Oh, and there doesn't seem to be a way to kill him either. I guess I'll leave that up to Sam and Dean to figure out. They're pretty good at figuring out this stuff ;)

Note: They say the more you learn about Slenderman, the more likely it is he'll come looking for you, so if you don't hear from me...

**Warnings: **Rating due to explicit language and some decent whumpage which includes blood and mild gore, and also a mention of non-con.

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Also, the title of this fic is a play on the name of the old Van Morrison song, 'A Whiter Shade of Pale'. Awesome song :) Many thanks for RiatheMai for helping me come up with that one. By the end of this fic, I'm sure I'll owe her many more thanks for her beta/edit help, and overall zany ideas. Thank you, my friend!

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**Slenderman's Song**

While you rest unbound, asleep

The Slenderman will take his keep

His rounded face so blank, so graceful

Dressed in suits that seem so tasteful

Long dark legs that step and stagger

Long fingers sharp like daggers

Moving in such a rapid pace

Gaining on you with no haste

So close to you, no less than an inch

Do not move, blink or flinch

For he delivers pure demise

A cursed soul in disguise

The Slenderman makes no mistake

For he will have your soul to take

(Credit creepypasta . wikia . com)

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**_*CHAPTER 1*_**

* * *

_…Present Day…_

The dispiriting cry of a vulture echoed out over the landscape, its unsettling sound rousing Dean from his unconscious state. He was sprawled out on his stomach and his body felt stiff, sore. His fingers twitched and he felt the cold, iciness of freshly fallen snow under the calloused palms of his hands; the frigid air had caused his face to grow numb and it felt like his nose hairs had frozen as well.

_What the hell?_

Dean blinked his eyes open and turned his head, spitting out bits of dirt and debris. The sharp clarity of morning caused him to squint and he let out a low grown from the aches that overwhelmed his body. (The fact that he was nearly frozen wasn't helping much either.) The hunter rolled over onto his back and stared up into the bare trees above; their frost-covered branches where gnarled and crooked and they knocked together like hollow bones in the light breeze moving through them. A kettle of vultures circled high above those same limbs; he shivered knowing he was probably the next thing on their menu.

As his senses came back to him, one by one, Dean forced himself to sit up. He wiped the snow and grit off his cheek as he looked around. What he saw were trees…as far as the eye could see. Aside from the call of the carrion fowl above, the woods were shrouded in a deathly silence.

_Again, what the hell?_

And then it all came back to him.

* * *

_…Two days ago…_

Dean pushed out through the door of the local tavern moving quickly, cocky grin on his face. He wasn't sure how pissed off the other guy was now that he'd lost two-hundred dollars over a game of pool, but the hunter wasn't about to wait around to find out. Hustling was fun, but only when you got away with it.

Sam had chosen to remain back at the room tonight. He had said something about wanting to get some more research done on their latest gig. And Dean was fine with that. The kid needed his space. It had been less than two months since Jess had died in that unnatural fire and Sam was still picking up the pieces. Whatever time Sam needed, Dean could give him that.

It was damp out and a ghostly fog had settled down claiming most of the neighborhood. It gave Dean an unsettled feeling and he quickened his pace along the sidewalk. Puffs of cold breath escaped in wisps from his nose and mouth and he turned the collar of his utility jacket up, nestling snugly within it. "Shoulda had some brandy," he muttered to himself. It would've at least taken the tension off his shoulders and warmed him up some.

It was roughly a ten minute walk back to the motel, not far by any means, but far enough. The road he was travelling was dark and mostly unlit; only one out of every four streetlamps was actually working. _That's what we get for working jobs in these Podunk towns,_ he thought to himself. On one side of him was a scattering of small, local shops – a video store, a second hand clothing shop, and a bakery were among them – tenant apartments were located on the upper levels. On the other side of him, across the street, was an ominous stretch of trees. As Dean made his way down the sidewalk, his shadow fell long and dark along the ground beside.

Dean jumped as a noise skittered across the asphalt to his right. He glanced over and saw several fallen leaves keeping pace with him out in the empty road. A thin laugh escaped his lips. "Dude," he shook his head, "you're seriously losin' it."

Another twenty feet passed and an unbidden shiver coursed down Dean's spine. He wanted to blame it on the chill, but something was _off_. The hunter carefully let his gaze drift around him as he loosened his hands his sides. His Colt was tucked into the waistband of his jeans and he wanted to be ready to use it if he needed to.

Nothing.

Another fifty feet and Dean slowed his step. Something – or someone – was following him; he could feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. He cast another casual glance around the area.

And there, off in the trees, he caught a glimpse of something. It was hard to see for the fact that it blended in so well with the forest, but it was there. The hunter continued walking until he came up on a telephone pole, putting it between himself and whatever it was that was following him. He peered out into the forest as he tucked his hand under the backside of his jacket, fingers wrapping around the smooth, pearl inlayed grip of his gun.

Just enough light from the last lamppost shone down and he saw _it_ clearly. A sense of dread suddenly enveloped Dean, nearly smothering him. The feeling, Dean knew, was a side effect from being so close to _him._ He tried to shrug it off, but it clung to him like a leech. "Son of a bitch," he muttered.

It had been just over three years since Dean had seen _him_, enough time that the hunter had started to think he'd seen the last of the creature_._ _So much for wishful thinking._ The man's pale features were in stark contrast to the surrounding void of night and Dean couldn't turn his gaze away. He found himself frozen in place, gaze locked with that of the featureless face staring back at him.

Even through the all-encompassing fear that was trying to worm its way into his mind, Dean's first thought was that he had to get to Sam; he couldn't let _him _get to his little brother. But Dean knew _he_ would get what he wanted. He always did. Dean also knew that as soon as he took his eyes off _him_, the man would instantly be on top of him. Still, he turned and ran, work boots pounding hard against the sidewalk as he did. What other choice did Dean have?

But it was too late. It was always too late once you laid eyes on _him._

* * *

_…Present Day…_

Dean slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and found his phone. He needed to call Sam, make sure his brother was alright.

"Dean? Shit, are you okay? Where the hell are you?" Dean allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. Sam was okay. "I've been trying to reach you for two days, but your phone hasn't been working."

_Fuck, two days?_

"Yeah, I think so," he answered as he pushed up to his feet. A bitter wind whipped up against him as he did, chafing his already raw cheeks, its chilly fingers seeking out every square inch of bare skin it could find. Dean took in a full three-sixty of his surroundings. Mountains. Other than that, it was just trees. With what he saw, he was surprised he was getting any cell reception out here at all. Hopefully, that meant he wasn't too far from somewhere.

The hunter rubbed at the nape of his neck with his free hand. "And, honestly, I don't know where I am." Dean knew he could be anywhere. The last time _he_ had gotten to him, he had woken up nearly dead over three hundred miles away from where he had been staying in some rundown shack of a house with his father in New York. He shivered at the recollection, at the thought of how much blood there had been _that_ time. If his dad hadn't gotten there when he did…

At that thought, Dean looked himself over. Aside from the general aches and what felt like mild frostbite, he appeared to be in good health. He'd apparently gotten lucky this time (not that he could remember shit about what _had_ happened). But this was just the beginning. He knew things were going to get worse, a whole lot worse. They always did.

"Dean?"

Dean was broken away from his macabre memories of his past run-ins with the creature. "What?"

"I asked you what happened."

He couldn't tell Sam. _Wouldn't_. The less Sam knew, the safer he would be. "I don't know." The lie rolled smoothly off Dean's tongue. "Listen. It looks like I'm in the middle of nowhere. I'm gonna start walkin' and I'll call you every half hour. When I get to some type of civilization, I'll find out where I am and you can come get me."

"Dean, what do you mean the 'middle of nowhere'?"

Of course Sam had to press for more. "For a college kid, I sure do have to explain a lot of things to you. I'm in the middle of the fuckin' mountains, Sam. Like the goddamn Rockies. Middle of nowhere."

"Mountains," the younger Winchester repeated. – Dean could picture Sam's brow creasing in confusion, the gears in that big brain of his turning. – The line was silent for a moment. "Seriously?"

"Dude, you're killin' my battery." Dean wasn't going to waste time going back and forth trying to explain something he couldn't. "I gotta go. I'll call you soon." Sam knew what he needed to know, so he quickly disconnected the call before his brother went into some kind of tirade.

The hunter tucked his phone back into his pocket and blew into his cupped hands trying to warm them up. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. From where the sun was in the sky, he gathered the mountain range in front of him ran north-south. Figuring the best way to go would be away from them, Dean tugged his jacket tighter around himself and turned on his heel, heading east through the barren trees. It had to lead somewhere eventually. At least it wasn't snowing.

And he prayed he wouldn't run into any unwelcome company during his hike. It was bad enough that he knew what was bound to happen in the upcoming days.

* * *

Several hours and a handful of calls later, Dean stumbled through the brush and found himself in what most people would consider a quaint mountainside village. The first thing he did was look at the license plates on the cars. New Hampshire. _Wonderful_. He had been deposited in the Appalachians. _No wonder my feet feel like freakin' blocks of ice_.

Not once in Dean's life did he feel the need for hiking that god-awful trail; Dean didn't do nature. The last time he and Sam were out in the woods, he had nearly gotten eaten by a damn wendigo. No, the great outdoors could keep to itself for all he cared. – And Sam was in Pennsylvania. Ol' Slendy was getting better in his efforts. He had almost another hundred miles on the last time. The asshole…

Dean located a motel and used some of his billiard winnings to reserve a room for the night. Once he got settled in and ordered some food, he called Sam.

"Warren, New Hampshire." Dean was holding the small plastic placard advertising the hotel which had been sitting on the table.

"Fuck, Dean. Really?" Sam nearly squeaked in disbelief. He was expecting something a lot closer…like the mountains just outside of Fullerton where their hunt was happening. "Do I even wanna-"

"No, Sam. Just get here. I'm at the Mountain View Lodge, just off of route 25. Room 9. There's a key waiting at the front desk for you when you get here."

"Yeah, okay. But what's that, like a seven hour drive from here? It's gonna take some time."

"Just don't wreck the car or I'll put a dent in you."

"Whatever," Sam deadpanned. "I'll be there later tonight. And when I get there, you're gonna tell me what's going on. – Oh, and thanks for leaving me with all your shit to pick up. You've got dirty clothes everywhere."

"Hey, don't give me that crap. I've been pickin' up after your ass since you were in diapers."

They said their goodbyes and Dean lay back on the bed, stretching out. After a couple of minutes, he got up to take a shower. The delivery guy wouldn't be there for at least another twenty minutes.

* * *

Dean turned on the shower, setting it to its hottest temperature, and then peeled out of his sweat-laden clothing. (The temperature flashing on the digital sign at the bank up the street might have said it was only twenty-eight degrees out, but he had built up quite the sweat coming down that hellish mountain; it felt like fucking Mount Doom.) He wrinkled his nose as he dropped the offending clothes into a pile in the corner. Just as he was about to step under the rush of hot water, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His eyes fell to five ragged scars on his chest and abdomen.

Their lines were bright pink and roughly four inches in length each; they were in-and-out wounds from front to back. Dean traced the one closest to his heart with the pads of his fingers. This is what that bastard had done to him last time…and these were only the ones most visible; there were others. The thing had let him remember everything that time._ What a nice guy._ Dean almost wished it hadn't.

He pushed the memory out of his head. He'd survived; that's all that mattered. And he would survive this time as well.

* * *

Dean came out of the bathroom minutes later, towel wrapped low on his waist, steam escaping the small room in his wake; it felt good to be able to feel his fingers and toes again. He glanced at the clock as his stomach rumbled and, just as he did, there was a knock at the door; a voice sounded through the thin wood announcing the arrival of his food.

He took out a few bills from his wallet which was on the nightstand and went to answer the door; his mouth was already watering at the mere thought of the sweet and sour chicken and fried rice which he'd be digging into shortly.

As Dean moved across the room, the silhouette of a man in the dark glass of the television set watched him silently.

* * *

After eating his meal of Chinese take-out, Dean sprawled out on the bed. He still had another five or so hours to kill before Sam got there. He was bored and exhausted. With no fresh clothing to put on, the hunter was basically trapped in the small craphole of a room for the remainder of the evening.

Dean tossed his towel aside and climbed under the scratchy blankets. If he could catch a small nap now, he'd be more on his game when Sam got there. He'd have to come up with some kind of passable story to explain how he'd gotten from suburbia Pennsylvania to the mountains of central New Hampshire.

Slowly, the hunter drifted off into sleep. To say it was a relaxing sleep would be like saying the sky was any other color than blue. _He_ was there. Everywhere Dean looked, the creature surrounded him. Dean tossed and turned, crying out in his sleep, but he couldn't wake himself up. He was being held under by _him._

_Slenderman had Sam. Dean knew it was a dream, but these dreams always seemed too real. The man's long, tentacle-like arms were wrapped around the younger Winchester like a constrictor, squeezing him until his face turned from deep scarlet to a deathly blue. Sam couldn't cry out for lack of air. Dean yelled, fought to get to his brother, but he was frozen in place. He could do nothing but watch as the creature tilted its head and disappeared in the blink of an eye with Sam in tow. Dean cried out as he reached up to the empty space in front of him and then he hung his head heavily in defeat. Sam was gone._

_Minutes – or hours – later, Dean felt something warm and wet drip down onto the top of his head. He pried his eyes open and looked up. Another drop, this time on his brow and spilling hotly down the side of his cheek. His breath hitched in his chest before he screamed. Sam…_

_And during it all, the faceless man remained motionless…watching with that cruel expressionless and blank face._

* * *

It was nearly 7:00 p.m. when Sam unlocked the door and stepped into the room. The scene he walked into had him dropping the bags to the floor and running over to the bed where Dean was flailing and crying out. Sam had to manhandle his brother as the older hunter tried throwing him off.

"Dean! Dean, wake up!" Sam narrowly dodged the closed fist which was swung in his direction. "Hey, c'mon, Dean. Snap out of it. You're having a nightmare."

Dean began to calm down as Sam's words started to sink into his subconscious mind. "Sam," fell from his lips as he started to come around. And then suddenly, he swung around faster than his brother could react and wrapped his arms around the younger man.

Sam was completely caught off guard at that. He couldn't wipe the stunned look off his face even as he let his long arms settle around the man and hugged him back, giving Dean what he seemingly needed at the moment.

It only took a split second before the elder Winchester realized what he'd just done. "Dude, get off me," he growled as his hands flew up, pushing Sam away. Dean moved back quickly, tugging the sheets up higher to cover his now partially bared hip, and then rubbed his hands up over his face in an attempt to hide the tears he felt pricking at his eyes.

Sam just sat there on the edge of the bed; he was dumbfounded. _What the hell had just happened?_ And now? He could swear he had seen a flash of tears before the man's hands were up over his face under the pretense of wiping sleep away. _That_ was something he hadn't seen the man do in years. "You alright?" he asked after giving Dean a few minutes to gather himself.

"I'm fine, Sam." That was it. No explanation. Nothing. _Typical Dean._

Sam shook his head at his brother's terse reply. "You want some water or something?" He got up and headed into the bathroom without waiting for an answer. A minute later, he came out and handed a glass to Dean. The man took it with little more than a grumbled 'thanks'.

Sam watched as Dean brought the water up to his lips; his hand was shaking. He could only wonder what his brother had been dreaming about. What could make Dean break like that? The man had always been a rock, unbreakable.

* * *

"So, are you gonna enlighten me as to what happened to you the other night?" A couple of hours had passed since Dean had woken up and Sam was still curious about what had happened to the man. He knew Dean wasn't going to just volunteer the information.

Dean was now in a clean pair of sweatpants and was sitting at the table drinking a coffee. He looked somewhat haggard and hadn't said much since waking. Whatever he'd been dreaming about had really taken its toll on him.

"I told you I don't know what happened."

"Seriously? You expect me to believe that you have no idea how you got from Fullerton to the fucking White Mountains?" He narrowed his hazel eyes at his brother then. "Dude, I'm younger than you, but I'm not stupid."

Sam watched Dean as he stood up and walked over to the kitchenette without saying a word. He proceeded to wash his cup out and set it in the rack to dry before turning back. Even from where he was sitting, Sam could see the man was still trembling from earlier.

Dean smoothed his hand over his mouth before looking up at him again. "Pissed off a couple of truckers. You know, hustled the wrong guys. I can't remember much since they knocked me over the head, but when I woke up, I was here. Shit happens. End of story."

Sam stared at Dean. That story was so full of shit that he didn't know where to begin. Dean would never let himself get taken down that easily. – They may have only been back together for a couple of months, but Sam knew that without a doubt. – Clearly, something had happened that Dean didn't want to discuss. "Yeah, that's totally believable," he huffed out under his breath. Sam got up and went over to the bed where he began to strip out of his shirt and pants. It was late and he was getting tired. "So, what're we gonna do about the hunt back in Pennsylvania, just leave it?" They still had an angry spirit haunting an old factory that needed to be taken care of.

"We can head back out there tomorrow. The only thing left is the salt-and-burn. There's no reason to not finish the job."

* * *

They packed up their things the next morning and stopped by the local diner before heading out onto the highway. As Sam followed Dean across the parking lot into the diner, he saw a familiar figure standing in the shadows of the community park next door.

He'd seen the entity several times since Jess' death and couldn't figure the thing out. Sam had already come to the conclusion that it had latched onto him; it wouldn't be the first time a spirit had been attracted to him over the years. Usually, they just went away after a while.

This one was different from the others though. It was more of a silent watcher, never trying to approach him or communicate with him. The being just remained still wherever it was. He was thin and was always dressed in a dark suit; his features were drawn and pale. There was no face, no hair…nothing…just smooth skin stretched tautly over sharp, boney features. And he was taller than Sam, closer to seven feet tall, possibly more. The way he stared was a little creepy, to say the least, but nothing Sam couldn't handle, not after everything he'd seen in his life.

Sam glanced at Dean; his brother didn't seem to notice the figure. When he looked back into the trees, it was gone. _Oh, well_, he shrugged. It wasn't hurting anyone. There was no reason to mention it.

* * *

The diner was your typical '50s-style place: red vinyl seating, chrome accents on the stools and tables, off-white laminate counters and tabletops, and pictures of old movie stars hanging on the walls.

Dean took the table in the far corner as was his usual modus operandi; he liked to be able to observe everyone who was coming and going. (It was something that had been ingrained in him over the years.) Their waitress stopped by seconds later and delivered their menus while offering them coffee.

Looking over his menu, Dean smiled. Their 'Special of the Day' was an endless plate of mini pancakes, all varieties…plain, chocolate chip, blueberry, cocoa-banana, and last, but not least, bacon-apple. Absentmindedly, he rolled his tongue over his lips, wetting them, as he thought about which ones he wanted…maybe some of each.

Fifteen minutes later, they were digging into their food: Sam his boring sunny side up eggs with whole wheat toast and Dean with his stack of love. (And if Dean didn't sound like he was making love to it as he ate...)

The older Winchester had just finished his second serving and was sprawled back in his seat rubbing a hand over his full stomach – but still contemplating a third plate – when he saw something that almost had his entire meal coming back up. Reflected in the shiny surface of the napkin holder on the table was _him_. Dean quickly glanced across the room to where the reflection would have originated from, but there was nothing there. He swallowed tightly and looked across the table at Sam who was completely oblivious and was pouring several packets of sugar into his most recent cup of coffee.

Dean suddenly stood up from the table, knocking his left knee against the underside of it hard as he did. "We gotta go," he said without explanation as he pulled out his wallet and threw a twenty dollar bill down between their dishes. He didn't give Sam a chance to ask questions as he grabbed his jacket from the booth and then pulled his brother along by his sleeve.

Sam yanked out of Dean's grip as they stepped outside into the cool morning. "Dude." He spun around on Dean. "Explain that one to me."

"You'll have to trust me on this one, Sam." Dean made a beeline to the Impala and had it started and in gear before Sam even had the passenger side door open.

There may have been a few speed limits broken as Dean floored it to the highway.

* * *

All was quiet for the first several miles, not even the radio broke the tense silence. Dean's knuckles were white where his hands were wrapped around the steering wheel and Sam continued to watch him from the corner of his eye.

"You know, you're runnin' like something's after you," Sam said after a while.

_Goddamn kid's too observant for his own good._ Since getting on the highway, Dean had been trying to get himself calmed down. He was starting to wish he'd left Sam at Stanford; he could find their father on his own. It would have been safer. And maybe Jess would still be alive, too.

"It's not something I wanna talk about right now." _I'm tryin' to protect you._

Sam shifted in the seat until his back was against the door and he was facing Dean. He didn't say anything, just sat and stared.

That steady gaze wore on Dean. It pissed him off that Sam knew how to wear him down like that, but then again, for the first nineteen years of Sam's life, Dean had practically raised him. The kid probably knew him better than he knew himself, even after three years of being separated.

"Goddammit, Sam. I _can't _talk to you about it. It's for your own good. The less you know, the safer you'll be, okay? So just…stop." Dean reached over and pushed the cassette into the player and turned the volume up. Bad Company began to play and Dean settled down into the seat ignoring his brother's glare. It wasn't too long ago that Dean had found out Sam was keeping some big secret. Well, he was just going the have to learn that Dean had his secrets, too.

Finally, with one final frustrated huff, Sam turned and faced the front of the car again. He crossed his arms over his chest and rested his head against the window. It was going to be a long ride.

* * *

They had another hour to go yet. Dean was still at the wheel, having refused to give it up when Sam offered to take over back in Connecticut. The younger Winchester had remained silent ever since.

The Impala had just rolled over the state line into Pennsylvania when a high-pitched whine poured out of the car's speakers. Both men cursed at the ear-splitting sound and Dean quickly reached over and turned the radio off. When he happened to glance up in the rearview mirror afterward, terror gripped him in its razor-sharp claws. Right there, in the back seat, was his silent tormentor. All thought of driving ceased and the car swerved across three lanes of the interstate, nearly striking a semi-truck. The only reason they hadn't was because Sam had launched across the front seat and grabbed a hold of the wheel.

"Dude, pull over. NOW!"

Dean blinked and then _he _was gone. The hunter was so shaken up that he followed Sam's order as easily as if it had fallen from John Winchester's mouth.

Sam spun towards his brother, eyes flashing with a raging combination of shock, anger, and fear. "What the hell is wrong with you? Whatever you're hiding, it's not worth killing both of us over it."

When Dean finally looked up at Sam, the younger Winchester cursed. "Shit, Dean. You're bleeding." He eyed the thin trickle of blood coming from the man's nose before pulling open the glove box to get a napkin.

**_To be continued..._  
**

* * *

**Author's Note:** This is a work in progress. I have six chapters written, but they all are still undergoing major editing. I'm thinking it'll wrap with maybe 10 chapters in total. I will try to post at least 1 a week, maybe more if I can.

Please be sure to leave comments. I'd love to hear from you, good or bad :)


	2. Chapter 2

***CHAPTER 2***

* * *

_…July 16, 1987…_

They were in southern New Mexico and John had left over two hours ago. It had been three days since they'd arrived. Prior to that, the boys had been at Bobby's for almost a month while the eldest Winchester was off with a hunting partner hunting some big badass baddy in northwestern Wyoming.

Dean was just closing the drapes over the window for the night when he saw _him _out in the parking lot. The creature had done nothing over the years but watch the young boy and aside from being a little creeped out by it, Dean didn't let it bother him too much.

Glancing over his shoulder, Dean saw that his four year old brother was sound asleep on the bed, tucked under the thin, floral-patterned sheets with his worn-out old teddy bear held tightly under his arm. He wanted to make sure Sammy never saw _him. _His brother had a hard enough time trying to sleep without adding something like this to his stash of nightmares.

When Dean looked back to the window, _he_ was just on the other side of the glass, having moved like he always did, lightning fast and only when Dean wasn't looking. The thin, skeletal features captivated him. He knew his father hunted monsters, knew that this _thing_ was one of them, but Slenderman had never hurt him. (The name had been told to him in a dream not long after he'd first seen _him_.) Dean stepped up to the window and placed an open palm to the thin barrier between him and _it._

He stared at the being, felt himself being drawn into its faceless gaze. Dean was beyond the point of being able to pull his mind away from _it_. He let _it_ enter his mind as it had done before, but what he saw this time wasn't all the kittens and rainbows he'd seen before.

_Men, women, and children all dying, that's what he saw. Bits and pieces of their hideous deaths flashed in his mind's eye. Never more than one at a time, but they were all bloody and broken. Most were impaled by tree branches high up in the barren treetops; it was both fascinating and disconcerting at the same time._

_The final scene laid before him was what terrified Dean the most: Sammy hanging from a tree, wooden limbs bursting through his chest and his little mouth hanging open; his unblinking and lifeless eyes stared at nothing while flies buzzed around him and settled onto his still body. The vultures flew in circles overhead…_

When Dean came to, the Pale One was gone. Tears streaked his small, round face and Dean quickly closed the curtains with trembling hands, hopefully closing _him_ out. Suddenly, he felt something tickle at his upper lip and he darted his tongue out; the strong taste of copper burst over his taste buds.

* * *

_…Present Day…_

After Dean got his nosebleed under control, he still refused to let Sam know what was going on. No matter what the younger brother said or how much he threatened the man, Dean simply _would not talk_. Sam couldn't break through the wall of Winchester stubbornness. He did, however, finally get the man to move across the seat so he could finish the drive to Pennsylvania. Once they got to the motel, he would work on him a little more, see if he could get Dean to crack.

* * *

Dean sat up, hand slapping out for purchase against the passenger side door; he was panicked and sweaty. Another nightmare. _Fuck. _This was just like the beginning of every other time _he _started toying with him. Dean wondered how bad things were going to get this time. What made matters ten times worse was that Sam was around…and Dean knew he wasn't doing a very good job at hiding the fact that something was going on.

He knew he couldn't have been sleeping for long because they were still on the highway. As he looked up, a sign for Fullerton passed. Two more miles.

"Another one?"

Usually that was a question Dean asked of Sam; the younger Winchester was always having nightmares since Jess had died. He rubbed his forehead, clearing the cool beads of sweat away. "Something like that." The hunter stared out the window; he didn't want to go into it right now.

"Listen, I've been thinking." Dean rolled his eyes at that, but Sam ignored him. "It's just a quick salt-and-burn, nothing I can't handle on my own-"

"Not gonna happen," Dean said matter-of-factly.

"Dean…" Sam sighed and shook his head; he knew this was going to cause a fight. "Look, you're not right. Let me just drop you off-"

"You're not going alone." _Not when he's this close._

Sam glanced at his brother, brow creased in a slight frown, before looking back at the road. "Fine. But you're staying in the car."

Dean said nothing, but there was no way he was staying in the car.

* * *

Dusk had settled in by the time Sam pulled the car to a stop at the edge of an empty field. The headlights of the car cut through the tall, dry grass, giving the scene in front of them an eerie glow. According to his research, William McFarber's bones should be buried in the far corner, his grave marked with only a stone.

Sam turned the engine off and looked over to his brother. Dean's eyes flashed at him in the darkness; they were full of defiance.

"I'm not stayin' in the car."

"Dean-"

"No, Sam."

"Nothing's gonna happen. It's a simple salt-and-burn," Sam stressed.

The brothers went back and forth, voices rising as both firmly held their ground. Finally, they came to a compromise: Dean agreed to stand watch from afar while Sam dug the shallow grave and tended to the salting and burning. Dean's logic was: if Sam really wanted to get stuck digging the grave on his own, then who was he to argue?

Dean watched Sam as he broke ground with the shovel and then began working his way down into the soil. It was late fall, almost officially winter, but after a while, the man gave in and stripped down to his t-shirt. Sam was lit up under the wide arc of the Impala's headlights and Dean could see the sweat along Sam's spine and under his armpits. – Digging graves was never an easy chore, no matter how shallow they were. – Dean smirked. It served the stubborn bitch right for making him sit this one out.

After nearly two hours, Sam looked back at Dean and gave him a thumbs-up. The elder Winchester grinned as he sat on the hood, shotgun in hand. Halfway there. A little while longer and then they could blow this joint.

* * *

Sam had just thrown the match into the grave and was bidding Mr. McFarber adieu when he heard Dean cry out, "SAM, GET DOWN!"

Instinct had Sam dropping flat to his stomach on the ground. He jumped when he heard the thunderous _crack _of Dean's shotgun. The weapon was re-cocked and another volley was let loose.

"Goddamn son of a bitch, you stay away from him!"

Dean couldn't be talking to the McFarber spirit. His bones were too far gone by this time. Sam looked over his shoulder at his fast approaching brother before he deemed it safe enough to get up. As he did, Sam looked around the area. All he saw was the lit up path of waist high grass blowing gently in the late evening breeze between himself and the lights of the Impala and the dark forest lining the meadow. Nothing out of the ordinary caught his attention, nothing except the angry glare on Dean's face. But Sam noticed as the man got closer that there was fear in his tight expression as well.

"Let's get this hole filled in and get outta here," Dean growled as he grabbed a second shovel from the duffel.

* * *

They had just finished cleaning the dirt off the shovels and were packing them into the trunk of the car when Sam finally took his chances and asked, "Dude, what the fuck was that all about?" He rested his hand on the open lid of the trunk and looked at Dean as the man stowed their things away; the elder Winchester had a certain method to his madness and Sam let him secure everything down.

"Thought I saw something," Dean muttered in reply.

"Thought you saw something? Christ, Dean, you could've killed me."

"Hey, I'm a good shot; I don't miss. And I'd never shoot you unless I meant to." A cocky grin lit up Dean's face then; his features had an unearthly red glow to them from the taillights of the car. "Maybe it was just ol' McDonald's ghost."

"McFarber. And no, his bones were toast by then."

"What do you want me to say, Sam? I thought I saw something and I shot it." Dean shouldered past Sam a little too roughly and headed towards the driver's side of the car. He'd had enough of being chauffeured around today. The motel wasn't that far away.

Sam sighed and shook his head in exasperation. He had no idea what had gotten into Dean. It was like he was hallucinating. But there was something more to it than that. How Dean had just up and disappeared from Pennsylvania and ended up several states away was still a mystery he wanted answers to.

* * *

The same old woman who Sam had checked out with yesterday was working the desk when he walked into the motel's front office. She looked up at him with a warm and friendly smile.

"Mr. Lee, I wasn't expecting to see you back." She shuffled up to the counter from where she had been sitting on the couch crocheting a blanket. "Did you find that dear brother of yours?"

Sam glanced over his shoulder to the awaiting Impala to where Dean was sitting with his right arm draped over the seat waiting for him and then back to the woman. "Uh, yeah. Girl trouble, you know." The corner of Sam's mouth twitched as he told the fib. He was still getting back into the old Winchester groove of lying to people when working the job.

"Well, that's part of life, I suppose. – So, I'm guessing you didn't just come back to talk to little ol' me…" Her old, gray eyes sparkled at him with a bit of mischief.

Sam grinned, dimples dipping into his cheeks. He liked Mrs. Mason. When they had first gotten into town – under the false story of Sam being a criminal justice major researching the cold case of the Fullerton murders, his brother having just come along for the ride – he had interviewed the woman about the deaths up at the factory while Dean scouted out the old industrial building itself. She had brought him a slice of homemade apple pie (much to Dean's utter dismay) and told him all about the town she'd lived and grown up in for the past nearly eighty years.

The widow had actually given him the key info he was searching for. She had told him about Mr. McFarber, an employee at the factory for close to thirty years, and how he had blamed several co-workers for his sudden layoff back in '53. Not long after, he had died of a sudden heart attack and was laid to rest in a field at the edge of his property. A month later, strange things had started happening at the factory…and they never stopped.

"Yes, thank you. Just for the night."

As Mrs. Mason checked the reservation book, Sam glanced back out the window at his brother. He frowned when he saw the entity that had been following him standing by the front fender of the car. The spirit was watching Dean, but the elder Winchester didn't seem to notice it as he sifted through his collection of cassette tapes.

Sam was startled from his observations when Mrs. Mason spoke up and told him she had the same room available that they had previously stayed in. In the second it took him to take his eyes from his brother to glance at Mrs. Mason and then look back outside again, the faceless man was gone.

_Huh._

* * *

They dropped their bags at the foot of their beds when they got into the room. Dean immediately began rummaging through his duffel and pulled out a half-empty bottle of whiskey. He really just felt like a drink tonight, needed to calm the nerves.

"You want some?" he offered. A slight cough interrupted his words and he cleared his throat.

"No, thanks. The only thing on my mind right now is a shower. I'm all sweaty and nasty." Sam was already pulling his shirt off over his head and heading into the bathroom; the door closed softly behind him a moment later.

"Your loss. Anyway, you're the one who insisted I hang out by the car." Dean walked over to his bed and flopped down onto it with a heavy bounce. The wooden frame creaked and he held still for a moment, hoping it wasn't going to break. When it seemed like it was going to hold, Dean scooted up against the headboard and unscrewed the cap to the bottle. Another cough broke the long pull of liquor he was taking and he cursed as his teeth were jarred on the lip of the bottle. "Fucker," he muttered.

Fear had gripped Dean when he saw that pale bastard behind his brother in the meadow earlier. Maybe it had just been an illusion…or maybe _he_ was just teasing Dean again, building up Dean's paranoia, trying to knock him down without really doing anything at all. _He _was good at that. It was usually how things with _him_ started out before the long, drawn out mind games began.

* * *

_…December 29, 1988…_

"Deeeann! I wanna go outside," Sam whined as his small hands tugged at a nine year old Dean's jacket. His wide hazel eyes stared up at his older brother pleadingly. "I wanna make a snowman. All the other kids get to when it snows."

They were in upstate New York and had just gotten the motherload of snow; a vicious storm had whisked its way through the region overnight and throughout most of the day. Dean didn't like snow; it was cold and wet and, well, he just didn't like it.

But little Sammy was pulling those puppy-dog eyes on him; he looked up through his long, floppy bangs at Dean. The kid knew it worked every time.

"Fine. We can go outside for a half hour. But I don't need you gettin' sick on me. Dad's not gonna be back for another few days and I don't have enough money to buy any medicine." _That's if their father could even make it here in the snow. _Thirteen inches was what the weatherman on the news had said.

Sam let out a whoop of joy and wrapped his arms around Dean's waist. "Thank you, Dean! You're the bestest big brother." He looked up at his older brother with a wide, gleaming grin all full of deep dimples and an empty spot where he had recently lost a baby tooth. "And I won't get sick. I promise," he added as an afterthought.

Dean ruffled Sam's hair and smiled back. "I'm gonna hold you to that. Now get your coat on and let's go. We got a snowman to build."

Sam ran across the small motel room and started tugging on his well-worn jacket – Dean figured Sam had to be something like its third owner – and then he found his threadbare mittens which were resting on the heater. "Ready!"

"Hey, runt, you forgot your shoes," Dean snickered.

That caused Sam to giggle. "Oh, yeah. I forgot." He found one shoe right away, but it took some time to find the other. (It had been in the bathroom under a pile of towels.)

Less than ten minutes later, the Winchesters were outside under the overcast sky; the sun was long gone, never really having been out at all today and everything was gray. There was a small side yard at the motel; it was boxed in by a fence of low-cut shrubs that had seen better days and a rundown bench sat at one end. Dean thought it would be the perfect place to build their creation. He helped Sam roll the base of the snowman and by the time they were done it nearly reached the older brother's waist.

"Gonna be tall like you," Sam exclaimed cheerfully, his breath coming out in white puffs in front of him. Dean noticed the hint of red at the apples of Sam's cheeks. The color looked good on the kid, made him look more alive than when he was stuck in these god-awful motel rooms while their dad was out hunting every kid's (and adult's) worst nightmare.

"I bet you're gonna be taller than me someday, Sammy."

"Nah."

"Why do you say that?" Dean was curious why Sam thought that.

"Because you're my _big_ brother. You're gonna always be bigger than me," he stated knowingly.

Dean chuckled. "I hope you're right about that," he said as he got started on the mid-section of the snowman. "Help me out, kiddo. This was your idea."

Once they got the ball rolling (no pun intended), Dean backed off and watched Sam. He laughed to himself when the younger Winchester slipped and fell on his face in the fluffy snow. The kid took it with a grain of salt and pushed back up, dusting the snow off his front, intent on getting his snowman built. Sam never gave up on anything, not when he had his mind set on it. Even at the tender, young age of five, he was stubborn…just like his brother and his father.

As Dean watched, he caught sight of someone lurking in the shadows of the parking lot watching them. He glanced at Sam to see if he'd noticed, but his brother was too focused on making the ball as big as his small frame could make it. When Dean looked back for the man, he was gone. – These seedy motels were always full of weirdos. – He would just have to keep an eye on things until they were done.

When he turned his attention back to Sam, Dean tensed and his heart nearly came to a crashing halt. _He_ was there. Slenderman was about ten feet off to Sam's right, silent and unmoving as usual. (That must've been who Dean had just seen.) It was the closest Dean had ever seen _him_ near his brother. Dean ran over to Sam and snagged the boy by his coat sleeve and yanked him towards the motel room. "Sammy, c'mon," he said quietly, trying to keep the sudden fear out of his voice; there was no sense making Sam scared.

Sam twisted out of Dean's hold and looked obstinately up at his brother with narrowed eyes. "No, Dean. I gotta finish. I'm not done yet."

Dean looked back to where the Thin Man was…but _he_ was gone. He stopped his argument as he spun around in place looking for _him._ _He_ was nowhere. After a full circle, Dean glanced back at Sam who was already back at the large snowball, rolling it through the snow and leaving a grassy, snowless patch in his wake.

"C'mon, Dean. Help me finish."

* * *

_…Present Day…_

Dean awoke to Sam shaking his shoulder. He jumped, knocking the empty whiskey bottle to the floor. "Goddammit!"

"Hey, calm down. You fell asleep." Sam said softly. "I just wanted to know if you wanted me to order some food."

The older brother rolled and picked the bottle up from the floor. He set it on the table and lay back once more with a groan. He hated when he fell asleep like that, always felt like shit after the fact.

"Actually, I was thinking of going out for a while. You're more than welcome to come along if you want."

Sam was at his bed and just pulling his sweatpants from his duffel. He dropped them back into the bag and turned to face Dean when his brother made his intentions known. Really, after everything that had happened during the last few days, he'd think his brother would want to just lie low for a while. "You're sure? I don't want to start a fight, but, man, what happened on the road earlier and back there at the field… Don't you think maybe we should stay in until you're feeling a little more up to it? Tomorrow we can put some distance between us and here. We could always hit some state out west; we haven't been out to the northwest in a while."

His brother didn't understand. Slendy wasn't biased; if _he_ wanted Dean (or Sam), he'd find them. And Dean wasn't going to hide like some frightened rabbit in a hole somewhere. But then again, whose eyes was he trying to pull the wool over? He was scared shitless of that _thing_ getting its hands on his brother. Nearly every time Dean had seen _him, _Slenderman would put gruesome images of Sam dying in one sick manner or another into his head. When he saw that son of a bitch out in the field earlier, standing mere feet from Sam…

"I just need to." The words were said more to himself than to Sam. "Just for a few hours. You and me, we could play some darts or something. I just need to take my mind off things and sitting here rotting in a motel room ain't gonna help."

Sam switched up and pulled out a fresh pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. It sounded like Dean already had his mind made up. "Okay. But you're not leaving my sight. I'm not driving back to New Hampshire to save your sorry ass again."

Dean knew his brother still wanted answers, but he kept mum much to Sam's annoyance. "Let me just take a quick shower." He got up from the bed and made his way across the room. "You leave me any hot water?"

* * *

They drove there. Dean held his breath as he steered the Impala down the strip of road where he had seen Slendy (and had been abducted from) the other night. If Sam noticed a change in his demeanor, he said nothing.

The low rumble of the Impala went quiet as Dean put the car into park and shut the engine down. As he stuffed his keys into his jacket pocket, a deep, racking cough hit him and he curled forward on himself.

Sam figured Dean had just swallowed wrong, so he waited it out as his brother turned red under the parking lot lights and continued to hack through the cough. It was a good three minutes straight before the man was able to catch his breath, albeit a little raggedly.

"Y'okay? Need some water? I think we have a bottle in the back."

Dean's voice was rough and scratchy when he answered. "I'm fine. Maybe I'm just comin' down with something." He wrenched the door open; it groaned loudly in protest as he climbed out of the car.

Sam followed Dean into the low light of the bar. He hadn't been here yet since the job started, but his brother had made several trips, the last being the other night when he had disappeared. They took a seat at a table near the side of the bar where the dartboard made itself at home. It wasn't their usual thing, sitting out in the open at a table, but Sam let Dean call the shots tonight.

"They've got really good food here," Dean commented as he flagged down a waitress.

* * *

They bypassed the offered menus and ordered a burger each with two baskets of fries and a couple of beers. When the food arrived, both men ate in companionable silence and Sam had to admit, Dean was right. The food was decent, even if he normally stuck to salads. A burger and fries definitely weren't going to kill him and were a good change once in a while. Actually, they tasted a hell of a lot better after depriving himself of them for long periods of time.

Two more beers and a shot of whiskey later, Dean challenged Sam to a game of darts. Sam accepted.

"Five or three?" Dean asked, referring to the fixed score of either 501 or 301 to start from.

"That all depends. How good are you feeling?"

"Not good enough," Dean smirked and took another swig of his beer.

"Okay, then." Sam grinned, eyes flashing with playful challenge. "Five." It would be a longer game and maybe he could get one up on the man after a few more drinks.

"Alright," Dean said as he went to the board and retrieved the darts. He split them up and handed Sam the three with black and green flights while keeping the black and red ones for himself. And then he gave Sam a look and waggled an eyebrow.

Sam laughed and shook his head as he dropped down from his stool. "You're gonna lose, dude."

"Don't hold your breath."

Dean shook out his right arm and flexed it, readying himself. Both brothers turned to face each other and then pumped their closed fists three times in front of them. Dean threw 'scissors'; Sam threw 'rock'.

"Dammit."

"Dude, all the time with the scissors. When are you ever gonna learn?"

"Shut up. – Okay, so I win, you get-" Dean let out another round of coughs, not as harsh as the one in the car, but it still wasn't great. He took a swig of beer before continuing. "-you get laundry duty for the next month. You win, well, you get the point."

Sam lifted his brow. "You sure?" He knew Dean was good at darts, but if he focused hard enough, Sam could beat his brother. It _had_ been done before.

* * *

Sam was leaning up against the table waiting for Dean to finish his turn. They were roughly halfway through the game – Dean was winning, even after his fifth beer – and Sam let out a tired yawn. He hadn't been left with any time to recuperate after the dig earlier.

Suddenly, Dean's last throw went wild hitting the wall and bouncing off to the floor. Sam saw his posture change almost immediately. He also noted Dean was looking off into the corner of the bar not far from where he himself was standing.

"Dean? Hey." Sam walked over to the fallen dart and crouched down to pick it up from the floor. He held it out to his brother. The man didn't acknowledge him; his eyes remained locked on the shadows. Sam glanced over again and saw nothing. "Dean, what? There's nothing there. Snap out of it." He leaned bodily over into the man's line of sight, but he still wasn't being acknowledged. Wide, green eyes were looking through him, pupils dilated. "Dean?" Sam reached out and gripped his brother's arm. When that didn't get a reaction, he stepped back. _What the fuck?_ Another look into the corner. Nothing. Well, then…

Sam gave Dean a final glance then walked over to the corner to see if he could pick up on anything. _That_ got a reaction out of Dean.

"SAM, NO!" Dean practically dove at him as he suddenly broke into motion, pushing him out of the way. "I won't let you have him!" he growled as he continued to move past Sam.

And then he disappeared.

**TBC...**

* * *

**Author's Note:** Please remember to comment. I love to hear from you, good and bad. It keeps the fire going :)


	3. Chapter 3

***CHAPTER 3***

* * *

_He_ was too close this time, right over Sam's shoulder. And several of those tentacle-like arms were stretched out, seemingly reaching for his brother. At first Dean froze; he was helpless, gripped in the morbid feelings of fear and despair that rose off the being in incessant waves. They pressed down on him, giving Dean a sinking feeling. He did his best to push them aside, to keep from drowning in them; Dean knew it was all in his head.

The older hunter ignored Sam's attempts at drawing his attention away from the creature because if he looked away, _he_ would move and it would be too late, game over; Slenderman would have Sam. But then his brother did something Dean hadn't expected him to. He started walking right towards _him._

That set Dean in motion.

"SAM, NO!" Dean launched forward, pushing Sam out of the way as he barreled into Slenderman. "I won't let you have him!" If he had to sacrifice himself, then so be it, but _he_ wasn't going to get his hands on Sam.

Dean suddenly found himself wrapped in Slenderman's iron-tight embrace, cheek pressed up against his chest.

He blinked and the bar was gone_._

* * *

"Dean!" Sam quickly recovered from being sent off-balance into the wall behind him and ran into the shadows to where his brother had just…vanished. He felt around on the wall, fingers slipping over the hickory paneling, searching frantically for a hidden door, looking for something that might tell him where Dean went. But he knew before he started that he wouldn't find anything.

"Fuck," he muttered as he turned around and leaned back against the wall, then slowly slid down to rest on his haunches. Sam had nothing, abso-fucking-lutely nothing, to go on. His stubborn idiot of a brother hadn't breathed a single word to him about whatever was going on and Sam was completely in the dark. He had nowhere to even begin.

His eyes dropped to the floor. It was made from what looked like reclaimed barn wood and its aged wooden planks had been meticulously polished until they shone under the vintage lamps hanging above the tables. As his gaze followed along the intricate lines of the wood grain, something caught his eye. He reached over to pick it up. It was a small piece of material. Sam's brow furrowed as he studied it in the low light of the bar.

It was black and looked to be some kind of wool-based fabric, certainly not from something Dean was wearing. (His brother had his usual jeans, cotton t-shirt, flannel overshirt, and utility jacket on.) It might not be anything at all – tons of people passed through this place every night; it could be from any one of them – but Sam knew better than to just ignore something that could be considered evidence, so he tucked it away into his jacket pocket for safe-keeping instead.

As he sat there, Sam tried to quell the panic that was rising up like a viper getting ready to sink its teeth into him, but it wasn't working out so well. He had no idea what to do.

Dean was gone…again.

* * *

Things were still and silent for an unknown span of time – Dean wasn't sure if he had lost consciousness or not – but when he opened his eyes, he saw trees. _What is it with the damn trees?_ Ominous shadows blanketed them and a cold breeze threaded through his short hair as he began to struggle against the bone-crushing hold Slenderman had him in.

"Dude, I've told you before, I'm not really the hugging type," Dean huffed out as he put a little more muscle into trying to get loose, face turning red from the exertion, but his effort was all in vain; he got nowhere. It pissed Dean off royally that he was as helpless as he was. Sometimes his life really sucked.

_"Why fight me, Dean? I will eventually get what I want; you already know that."_ The words drifted easily into the hunter's mind and he shuddered; they felt oily, contaminated. He hated when Slendy did that, got into his head like he had a timeshare or something.

"Screw you," Dean growled as he twisted and tried to somehow work his way out of Slendy's arms. "Somehow – I don't know how yet – I'm gonna take you down." Yeah, maybe Dean wasn't in the best of positions to be making a threat like that, but, hey, why not, right?

_"Your insolence entertains me, my little hunter. It is one of the reasons you are still around after all these years."_

"And all this time I thought it was because you thought I was adorable," Dean deadpanned.

The razor-sharp tip of one of Slenderman's tentacles reached over and caressed Dean's cheek, causing the man to flinch, but it didn't cut into him like he knew it was more than capable of doing. _"I need something from you."_

That caught Dean by surprise. "Oh, yeah? And what's that?"

_"Your brother, Sam, he intrigues me."_

Dean stilled, heart caught in his throat, and then he renewed his struggles. "You leave him alone, you son of a bitch! We had a deal."

The arms around Dean tightened, crushing him further into the soft material of the being's suit jacket, causing him to gasp for much needed air; his ribs felt like they were going to give at any second.

_"Oh, no, Dean. That changed a couple of months ago. Such a sweet, sweet tragedy that was, don't you think, how it broke your brother to pieces?"_

Dean's mind was growing too foggy, too quickly; he needed air, but he still managed a weak, "No…"

_"He is mine now."_

"You…can't. Please…" The hunter felt himself depending more and more on the creature to hold him upright as his oxygen-deprived body started to slump. He hated that he was reduced to begging, but he would do what he had to. He wouldn't let Sam go through what he'd been going through all these years.

Dean's pleading words were ignored. _"The bond between two siblings…such a remarkable thing it is. As he is your weakness, you are his." _Slenderman paused then. Dean forced himself to look up into the Thin Man's face; he _felt_ something else in its mind, almost as if it was reflecting on some thought or memory, but it was only fleeting and gone a moment later. "_But, tell me, there is something about Sam that keeps his mind closed off to me. What is it about him that makes him so special?"_

Special? There was nothing special about Sam. He was a little bit of a sensitive, but that was it. "N-nothing," Dean answered on a shallow exhale.

Apparently, his answer wasn't good enough. _"Tell me!"_ The demand came again, but louder this time; the words ricocheted off the inside of Dean's skull like a marble in a glass jar. Somewhere he heard the disturbing sound of bones shifting and popping. The hunter had heard the sound before, the night Sam left for Stanford; Slendy was pissed. When he was pissed, he grew; Dean felt the ground disappear under his feet.

"I…" Dean struggled for a breath of life-giving air. _Ah, hell._ "Go fuck yourself."

He heard the sound again – bones cracking – but this time they were his own and Dean screamed as his ribs snapped like twigs under the increasing pressure around him.

_"I will not be denied. I WILL HAVE HIM!"_

A defiant smirk broke through the pained expression on Dean's face. "Over…my…dead…body," he grit out between clenched teeth, even as his vision was beginning to fade.

Slendy wanted Sam, but couldn't get into his head, couldn't use that to wear him down; that was some relief, at hunter grunted when the tight hold on him was suddenly released and he slipped almost ten feet to the ground below. The fall shifted his broken ribs and he cried out in agony as he clenched an arm around his damaged ribcage, his breath ragged and panting.

When Dean pried his eyes open, he was alone.

* * *

Sam eventually made his way back over to their table where he just sat and stared at the too empty corner. Something told him Dean wasn't going to just pop back out of some spinning vortex like the crew from that old sci-fi show, 'Sliders', he and his brother had watched on occasion; that was just wishful thinking. He'd already tried calling Dean, but, like the last time, the call wouldn't go through.

Finally, he got up, tossed a few bills on the table, and left…only to walk into another problem: the Impala. The doors were locked and Dean had the keys. _Just fucking great_.

Dean would kick his ass if he hurt anything on his 'baby' to get in, so Sam looked around for an alternative to breaking a window. Up the street he spied a local garage; a couple of tow trucks were sitting out in its lot. He arched his brow and crossed his fingers as he jogged up the street. His luck held out when he found the door to one of them was left unlocked. It took longer than he wanted it to, but he found what he was looking for. Sam pulled the slim jim out from the stash of tools and rushed back to the Impala. Five minutes later he was leaning under the dash hotwiring the car.

"Sorry, Dean," he mumbled as he cut the necessary wires and got the car started after a few sparks.

There was nowhere for Sam to go but back to the room. It would be home base until he found Dean again…and he _would_ find his brother.

* * *

Sam booted up his laptop and immediately began scouring the internet for what might be going on with Dean. He really wished the man had opened up about what was going on. It would have made his search for whatever it was a hell of a lot easier. Maybe it would have even prevented this whole ordeal in the first place.

Almost two hours later, Sam leaned back in the chair and stared bleary-eyed at the screen. "Dean, dude." Sam shook his head at his brother's stubbornness. He blew out a frustrated breath and rubbed at his tired eyes. Glancing down at his watch, he saw that it was just after one in the morning.

His gaze fell to his cell phone sitting on the stained laminate surface of the table beside the computer; there was a yellowish-brown cigarette burn right next to it. He picked the device up and dialed Dean's number. The call went directly to voice mail again. "Dammit!" He tossed the phone back onto the table in frustration.

Sam pushed his chair back and stood up, needing to take a break for a few minutes. He stretched, trying to get rid of the kinks in his back from sitting in the crappy, plastic piece of furniture for too long. He could feel knots of tension all throughout his muscles and knew there wasn't much he could do about them, not with Dean out there somewhere dealing with God only knew what.

Having gotten through his initial panic about what had happened, Sam was rolling over to 'pissed off'' mode. He wanted to blame Dean; it was the easiest thing to do. If – when – he found his brother, they were going to have a serious talk. Dean came for him, wanted Sam's help to find their missing father. Sam wouldn't call this 'working together'; it was far from it. Obviously, whatever was going on, Dean was in over his head.

Hell, Sam knew Dean had his secrets. They weren't exactly in each other's pockets. Sam had his own as well, one in particular that he wasn't planning on sharing any time soon. The fact that he had had dreams of Jess dying before it happened still disturbed him – something was just _wrong_ with that – and to this day Sam blamed himself for her death. If he had only done something…

After pacing the room and racking his brain for anything that might help point him in the right direction, Sam took a seat at the table again. His keystrokes were broken off a few minutes later when the monitor began to flicker and then cut out altogether. "Shit," he muttered as he gave it a few taps. And then he saw it…a reflection on the darkened screen. The entity that had been following him around was standing behind him, probably not more than eight feet away. The air in the room seemed thicker, heavier, somehow and Sam could sense an evil energy coming from the being, something he had never felt from it before. The hunter turned in his seat, only to see it slowly tilt its head and then disappear.

Sam frowned as the wheels started to turn in his head; connections were being made. He got up quickly, going over to the bed to retrieve his jacket. Sam reached into the front pocket and pulled out the piece of material he'd found at the bar just after Dean had disappeared. "Shit." It looked a hell of a lot like the suit his so-called spirit was wearing. _Why the hell hadn't he noticed that earlier? _Then again, until just now, he'd never seen the creature up close; it usually just lurked in the distance as it watched him.

A heavy thud followed by a soft, shuffling scrape coming from just outside the door had Sam snapping his eyes across the room; the dawning dread of his current speculations was forgotten for the moment. He was at the window almost instantly, Taurus drawn, safety off.

Sam slowly pulled the heavy curtains aside and looked out into the night; he wasn't sure what he was going to find out there after his recent visit. But what he saw had him unbolting the lock and ripping the door open a second later.

"Dean!"

His brother was hunched over against the door frame; his breathing was strained and he was holding his left arm protectively up against his side and chest. The muscle along Dean's jaw was tight and his eyes had lost their usual luster. The man was in some serious pain.

"Jesus, man. What the fuck happened to you?" He gingerly helped Dean up and through the threshold. Not knowing what was wrong with him, Sam kept his touches light.

"Just need to lie down," Dean mumbled between ragged breaths. "Long walk."

The older hunter had gotten lucky this time (if you could call it that). The forest Slendy had dumped him off in was the one just down the road where he'd seen the creature for the first time the other night. His phone hadn't quite survived the encounter and Dean had been forced to make the half mile walk back to the room…and that was only after wandering aimlessly in the woods for what seemed like forever. But he'd made it, even if it had hurt like a bitch.

"Yeah, okay." Sam helped his brother over to the bed. He was so full of questions – like, where the hell had Dean just come from? – but he'd hold off. Dean was back, hurt, but alive.

Once Dean was on the bed, he shifted to lie back, wincing. He knew he was going to have to ask Sam for help and that sucked. But broken ribs needed attention…and he wasn't sure if one had punctured his lung or not. He _was_ having a hell of a time breathing.

"Dean?"

Dean lifted a hand, telling Sam to hold on. "Just give me a minute." He could feel his brother's eyes on him, didn't have to have his own eyes open to know Sam was taking in everything that was wrong with him. "Gonna have to get the first aid kit, Sammy. Think we're gonna need it," he said without lifting his eyelids.

Sam didn't reply, but Dean heard him move across the room, heard the long drag of the zipper on the duffel being pulled open, and then he felt the bed dip when Sam came back and sat down next to him a minute later.

Dean opened his eyes then and sat up as carefully as he could; a muffled groan escaped his effort of hiding how bad he was hurting. "Fuck. – I'm gonna need you to help me get this stuff off." He began to fumble with his jacket. "Think I've got at least two broken ribs…the bastard."

Sam helped remove his brother's jacket. "You planning on letting me in on the big secret any time soon?" he finally asked, not being able to hold back any longer. "I mean, you fucking disappeared, man. Twice now in the last week. Whatever it is, it's obviously more than you can handle alone."

His coat and overshirt off, and now working on his t-shirt, Dean hissed in pain when he raised his arms up. "Can we – _fuck_ – just deal with this first?"

"Jesus Christ." Sam eyed the bruising that colored his brother's torso. Deep purples and blues painted the expanse of Dean's ribcage. He couldn't help but reach out and run trembling fingers along the man's side causing goosebumps to rise up under his touch. Dean had gotten it good. His hazel eyes darkened in fury as he took in the damage done to the older hunter. That thing – whatever it was – was going to pay for this. "Yeah, we'll fix you up, but after, you're gonna tell me what's going on. I'm not letting this happen again."

"Yeah, whatever." Dean shrugged off his brother's words, even though he knew they'd being having some sort of discussion at some point, and then he scooted forward, arm instinctively wrapping around himself again. "Just get this done."

"Yeah, alright. Hold still and no crying." That earned Sam a swat upside the head. The corner of his lip twitched up when he heard Dean gasp. "Take it easy there, big guy, don't wanna hurt yourself."

He grimaced when Sam began to palpate his side, looking for broken bones. "Shut up."

* * *

Dean felt his eyelids growing heavy. Between the liquor from earlier, the minor shock that his body was in, and the three pain killers that he had popped twenty minutes ago, he was shot. All he wanted to do was roll over and go to sleep, but…

"So…," Sam started. He was sitting on his own bed facing Dean, hunched over slightly with forearms resting on his knees; his fingers were laced loosely together where his hands hung down between his knees. The younger man's gaze was fixed on Dean; he was waiting for answers.

Dean shifted a little on the bed; his ribs felt stiff and he was beginning to feel an itch under the ace bandages which, by the way, felt like they were holding him together. "Do we have to talk about this tonight?" _Really, tomorrow would be better._ _Actually, make that never._

"Dean." Sam's voice was low and full of warning. His kid brother knew him too well.

"Seriously, Sam. I have a killer headache and I'm tired. – And, shit, I gotta take a leak." The last thing he wanted to do was get back up, but the drinks from earlier were wreaking havoc on his bladder.

Dean knew Sam was going to get pissed off, but it wouldn't be the first time; he'd get over it. He maneuvered himself to the edge of the bed and braced himself as he stood up. The heat of Sam's glare burned into him, but he chose to ignore it as he made his way around the younger man's long, sasquatch legs which were taking up most of the space between the two beds.

* * *

Sam watched the door close behind Dean. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and sighed. Even after all of this, his brother still didn't want to talk. Well, he was going to get Dean to talk whether he liked it or not.

A few minutes later, Dean reappeared and was in the middle of carefully turning down his blankets when Sam spoke up.

"He has no face." The younger Winchester watched as his brother tensed. _So, I'm on to something._

The kid had found something, dammit. And Dean knew exactly what his brother was doing; he was baiting him. "Sam, just, please," he pleaded, "can't we drop it for the night." Sam didn't know how dangerous it was to just be talking about _him._

"Why won't you talk about it? What's got you so scared?"

Dean turned and looked at Sam. There was no anger in the man's green eyes, only concern. Sam could clearly see that his brother was worried. "The less you know, the safer you are."

"You're worried about me? Is that why you haven't told me what's going on? Seriously?" Sam nearly screeched. "Fuck, Dean. You're the one with three broken ribs. Don't you think we should be worrying about you instead? How do we know it's not gonna kill you next time?"

Sam couldn't help it; he was crashing from the overwhelming emotions of the day and unbidden tears welled up in his eyes. He couldn't lose Dean. The man was all he had left. As far as he was concerned, their father was already gone, probably dead; the man hadn't answered any of their recent calls.

"C'mon, Sam. Don't do this. If it hasn't killed me yet-"

"Yet?" Sam cut his brother off. "How long has this thing been after you? Talk to me, Dean."

Dean looked down at the worn carpet between them, a quiet cough broiled in his chest and he did his best to keep it down. Okay, he could tell Sam a little, put him at ease some. But he wouldn't tell his brother _who_ was stalking him. Slenderman was one of those creatures where the more you knew about him, the stronger he became, the easier it made it for him to hunt your ass down. He wouldn't do that to Sam.

He took a seat next to the younger man, lowering himself slowly so as not to jar his ribs. "Look, I'll answer whatever questions I can, but I can't tell you everything, not right now. You have to trust that I know what I'm doing." _I'm protecting you._

Dean's words had Sam automatically wanting to delve deeper, but he forced himself to take this thing one step at a time. "Yeah, okay. I got it." He turned on the bed, tucking one foot up under the opposite knee. Once he was comfortable, he repeated his earlier question. "So, how long?"

Dean thought back in his mind. He had been little, but he remembered it clearly the first time he saw him. "It was the night of the fire."

"Since Jess died?" That was the first thing that came to Sam's mind. It would coincide with when he first started to see _it._ When Dean didn't answer right away, it dawned on Sam. "Oh, god. You mean _the_ fire? Since Mom?"

Dean nodded; his eyes came up and met with Sam's. He read the shock in the wide, almond-shaped eyes of his brother.

"Shit. But you were only four years old," he said, stunned.

"And I've dealt with _it_ ever since then. So, see why I don't need your help now? I'll get through this. He always goes away."

"Who is _he_, Dean?"

_Shit._ "Don't ask me to tell you anything about _him_. This is my problem, not yours." Dean would make this all go away before Sam got hurt. He had to; he didn't have a choice.

"But-"

"No, Sam."

Sam leaned back against the headboard and dropped his head against the wall in frustration. _What questions would Dean answer?_ "Has he hurt you before?"

"He's roughed me up some, but I've managed to survive."

_Now if that's not a vague answer._ "Has he done worse than that?" Sam gestured to Dean's newly wrapped chest.

"Don't worry about it."

"Goddammit, Dean!" Sam sat forward and pinned Dean with a fiery glare. "Why won't you open up and let me help?"

"Because I'm trying to keep _him_ from getting to you, okay!" _Fuck. _Dean silently berated himself for letting that one out of the bag.

"Me?" Sam sat there, slack-jawed. _What did this thing want with him_? Dean was the one disappearing and getting his ass handed to him. "How… Why? Dean, what _is_ he?" Sam's thoughts turned to his silent watcher, to what he had assumed, until tonight, was just a displaced spirit.

"Never mind. I've got it handled." Dean started to get up. As he did, he heard Sam mumble something about 'bullshit', but he didn't bother answering to it. He had to shut this conversation down before his brother got too much to go on. Mr. Wizard over there only needed a few clues and he'd have the whole riddle figured out in no time. It seemed he already knew more than he should. It was probably a good thing that there wasn't much out there to find on _him._

When Dean was old enough, he started researching the creature. Bobby's library was a treasure trove of supernatural lore. (If you didn't find something you were looking for in it, it usually didn't exist.) He'd found small scraps of information on Slenderman, but nothing on how to kill the creature. Later, when the internet came along, he'd made use of it, but only to come to the same dead end: no one knew how to kill the thing. Dean knew that eventually it would probably be his demise, but he'd do his damnedest to protect Sam in the meantime.

"You know, he was here, just before you showed up."

Dean's knees nearly gave out then. – He had hoped that Sam would never have to see Slendy, that his supposed immunity would keep _him_ away from his brother. – Somehow he made it over to his bed. "That son of a bitch," he cursed under his breath. "Are you okay? Did he do anything to you?"

"Aside from the creep factor? No, he didn't do anything. Before tonight, I always just thought he was some harmless spirit or something. You know I've had a couple of 'em latch onto me before."

"You've seen him before?" Dean watched Sam and saw a flash of hurt in his brother's eyes before he replied.

"Um, yeah. Since Jess died, he's been around."

"And you didn't bother to tell me?"

Sam looked over at Dean; anger flashed in his multi-colored eyes. He couldn't believe Dean had just said that. "Ohhh, don't even, Dean. Don't even go there."

As Sam's nostrils flared and his lips pressed into a tight line, Dean thought, _Okay, maybe that was a little too much like the pot calling the kettle black._ "Forget it. I'm tired and I'm saying shit I shouldn't be." He lay down on the bed without waiting for a reply and pulled the blankets up over himself. "Let's just get some sleep."

In the last few minutes, Sam had noticed a slight slur in his brother's speech. The pain meds had to have been kicking in by now; he was sort of surprised Dean hadn't passed out already. And it was late; they could continue this conversation tomorrow after they both got some rest. "Good night, Dean." Sam settled down into the bed and turned over.

No matter how much the 'big brother' in Dean wanted to stand guard over Sam all night, there was no way he'd be able to. The pills Sam had forced him to take earlier were some fancy, high-end prescription and they were doing their thing. He would just have to rely on the fact that Sam was protected by something. At least the kid had that much going for him.

"G'night, Sam." Dean's answer was muffled by the blankets as well as a groan when another cough forced its way out.

* * *

_…June 14, 1991…_

The sun had set a little over an hour ago and Dean was sitting out on the back steps of the rundown house their father had decided to rent while they had finished out the remainder of the school year. The far edge of the property butted up to a small section of undeveloped woodland – it was up for sale though, so it probably wouldn't be long before some contractor moved in and cleared all the trees out – and the call of thousands of crickets sounded from all around him disturbing the otherwise quiet night. He wasn't interested in sitting inside with Sam, who was eating Spaghetti O's while watching re-runs of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and their father was currently too occupied at the wobbly kitchen table – the fourth leg was propped up and a couple of old magazines to help keep it steady – going over maps of central Montana for Dean to bother. They were heading out first thing in the morning. _So much for a relaxing summer vacation._

He flipped through a girlie magazine he had stolen from the quickie mart down the street and sighed. Dean couldn't concentrate on the pages full of naked women. Today had been the last day of school – _thank god _–but there were plusses and minuses of finishing up this particular year. In the fall, Dean would be starting middle school. Yeah, that was good and all, but he'd no longer be able to keep an eye on Sammy; his brother would be left alone to fend for himself as he started the third grade, his first time ever being without his older brother. That didn't settle well with Dean, not at all. He knew it wouldn't hit his brother until September, when John would be the one dropping him off at school every day. Actually, Dean didn't know how that was going to work either because that would mean their dad would have to be around _every_ day. (That was like asking for a miracle.) Dean would still make sure he was there to pick Sam up after school; it would help make things a little easier.

As these thoughts floated around in his young head, Dean continued to absently flip through the pages of the smut mag. His favorite, Destiny, was on the cover. (Hey, he might only be twelve, but you had to start somewhere.) Off in his peripheral vision he saw something…or thought he had.

Dean slowly closed the magazine and put it down on the step before reaching for the small silver knife that he kept strapped to his ankle. He unbuckled it and stood up. At first he didn't see anything, just the long shadows falling across the backyard, but his burgeoning hunter instincts told him something was there. The young hunter knew he should probably go inside, get his dad, but he didn't.

He pressed his back up to the wall of the house and slid along it. – Dean cursed his eyes for taking so long to adjust to the darkness as he moved out of the circle of light cast down from the back porch. – As he approached the side of the house, he peaked around the corner, eyes scanning the yard. Nothing. _Maybe it had just been some animal?_ It wouldn't surprise him, not with the woods so close. Less than two weeks ago, he and Sam had spotted a black bear wandering through the yard.

The breath Dean didn't know he'd been holding finally escaped and a nervous laugh eased out of his throat as he shook his head. "Dean, you're too jumpy, dude." He turned to go back into the house. Sam should be done with his dinner by now and Dean wanted to make sure his brother got a shower in before bed tonight.

Dean walked right into something…or rather _someone_. The scream that formed in his throat was silenced almost immediately as long, spider-like arms wrapped around him and pulled him tightly against the being in front of him; his nose rubbed against the silky black tie. Dean couldn't move, couldn't fight, couldn't call out for help as he and his silent captor winked out of sight.

* * *

When Dean opened his eyes, he knew at once that something was far from right. The house was still there, as was the yard, the Impala…and he could even see his dad through the kitchen window. What told him things were different was the lack of anything…no sound, no movement – John Winchester stood leaning over the table, unmoving, not even a breath – no heat, no cold, no smells. It was as if he was in a vacuum.

The young hunter spun around and looked at the Pale One. The being stood just as motionless as his father in the house, but Dean knew it could damn well move if it chose to do so. A foreboding chill ran down his spine as his gaze was drawn into the hollow area of pallid skin stretched tautly over where eyes should be.

"W-what d-do you w-want?" Dean managed to stutter out.

"_You."_ The word echoed deep in his mind.

He attempted to move back a step, but his body wouldn't listen. Instead, he was forced to take several steps forward. When he came to a stop, Dean was only inches from the being. The hunter had no idea how that worked other than he had felt a pull in his mind. He shook his head. "No. I've told you before, you need to go away…leave me alone. I don't know what you want, but you can't have me!"

_"But my child, don't you know? You are already mine. I will never go away." _Suddenly, a thick coiling appendage shot out from behind the creature's back and wrapped around Dean's neck; he found himself helpless in its relentless grip. The end of the 'arm' slid under his chin and caressed his tender flesh as they stared at one another. – Dean might be young, but his moss-green eyes burned with a hatred only those who've seen too much could carry. – He flinched when the being nicked his skin; his blood trickled hotly down the column of his neck, wetting the collar of his t-shirt. _"If you try to fight me, others will suffer." _A brief flash of Sam was shown to Dean's mind's eye. "_Starting with him."_

"No." Dean barely blinked…and _it_ was gone. He stumbled back a step, gasping for breath as the sound of crickets filled his ears once more. When he looked inside the house, John was taking a pull from a bottle of beer; it was as if nothing had happened. Dean wiped the underside of his neck with the back of his hand and flinched at the sting of the raw wound.

_It_ had just threatened Sammy. Dean was pissed; he was scared. And he was alone. If he went to his dad for help, Sam would get hurt. Dean wasn't going to let that happen.

* * *

That night was the first time Dean had ever had physical contact with Slenderman. It was also the first time it had ever forced its will upon him or caused bodily harm however slight it was.

He shivered as he stood there surrounded by the night, not because he was cold – no – but because Slenderman had spoken the truth when he had said Dean was already his. _He_ knew Dean's weakness.

* * *

_…Present Day…_

As exhausted as he was, Dean was restless and found himself tossing and turning. Every time he did, his ribs cried out, keeping him awake even longer. But eventually he fell asleep. He didn't dream, but he wouldn't have considered it a peaceful sleep either.

Outside, the moon was in the infant stages of its monthly phase and it was one of those almost too dark nights. A lamp just on the other side of the window cut through the almost impenetrable shroud of darkness and sent long shadows skittering across the floor of their room.

One of those shadows seemed to have a life of its own as it slid up the side of Dean's bed.

* * *

Something had stirred Sam from his sleep. He didn't move, but rather remained still, keeping quiet. He just listened. One of the first things he noticed was that he didn't hear Dean's steady breathing coming from the other bed. Sam opened his eyes then and he was startled to see his brother standing at the foot of his bed staring down at him, silent as death.

"Dean?"

No answer.

Sam scooted up and reached over to the nightstand to turn the small lamp on so he could see. As he did, he noticed it was close to 4:00 a.m. They'd only been sleeping for a couple of hours. Scratch that, _he_ had been sleeping for a couple of hours. He couldn't be so sure about Dean.

"Dean?" He looked over at his brother as the room lit up under the soft amber glow of the light.

The man didn't respond. He just stood there staring, watching Sam. What really creeped the younger brother out was how the corner of Dean's lip was tilted up in a half-smile. Something was so not right about this.

The younger brother kept his guard up as he threw the blankets off himself and got out of bed; he made sure not to take his eyes from the man as he did. There was still no movement except for the fact that Dean's eyes followed him.

"Dude, stalker much?" Sam tried to kid, but it didn't lighten the not-so-good feeling he had about this whole situation.

Since he wasn't getting any reaction from the man, Sam squared his shoulders and moved towards the foot of the bed. He had to get his brother to snap out of this…thing, whatever it was.

As he approached the man, Dean finally moved. He turned to face Sam as Sam got closer. The expression on his face didn't change though. When Sam was close enough, he noticed Dean's eyes were fully dilated; the bottle-green of his irises was nearly washed out by obsidian.

Sam took a moment to look over his brother. The state he was in was trance-like; it reminded him of someone when they were sleepwalking, but Dean had never been one to do that before. His breathing appeared to be normal. His coloring was fine. Everything looked okay except for his eyes and that damned disturbing smirk that wouldn't go away.

Dean's right hand slowly came up and cupped the side of Sam's face, its thumb smoothing over the day-old stubble on his chin. It was an odd touch – Dean had never touched him like that before – and Sam backed away from it. It felt all wrong. Dean was wrong…_off. _He wasn't himself.

"Dean? Dean, man, snap out of it." Sam reached up and waved his hand in front of his brother's face. Nothing, just that blank stare and creepy-ass smile.

And then suddenly, Dean's hand shot out and grabbed Sam by the wrist. His fingers dug sharply into the thin flesh causing him to cry out, half in pain, half in surprise.

As Sam fought against his brother's grip, he never noticed the dark figure hovering in the shadows in one corner of the room.

* * *

**Author's Note: **For any Slenderman purists out there, I know Slendy isn't known to speak, but for this fic to make sense I took a little creative initiative and allowed him to telepathically 'speak' to Dean, otherwise we'd have a lot of blank staring going on for the duration of this fic and no one would know what was going on. LOL! I could have changed this fic drastically and went in that direction (I could have made it work somehow), but I chose to go this route. I think, for the reader, it works better.

I appreciate any comments, good or bad.


	4. Chapter 4

***CHAPTER 4***

* * *

Sam tried to pull out of his brother's vice-like grasp, but the man wouldn't let go; Dean only dug his fingers in further, crushing tendons and muscle, causing the younger man to grimace in pain.

"Dean, c'mon, man, let go!"

There was no response from the elder Winchester, no recognition in his eyes, just that damn freaky stare. The more Sam struggled, the tighter Dean's grip got. His options were fairly limited at this point; he didn't want to hurt Dean any more than he already was. A full-on physical confrontation wasn't something Sam wanted to get into, not unless there was absolutely no other choice.

"You're hurting me, dude." Sam tried one last time, hoping to get through to the man; his brother had to be in there somewhere and Sam knew Dean would never purposely hurt him. And, just for a second, Sam saw something in the man's eyes change; the faraway look seemed to focus in on Sam like he was trying to overcome whatever was going on – "Dean?" – but, just as suddenly as it was there, it was gone, and that smirk twisted into a cold and malicious sneer. _Shit._

Dean moved fast, almost too fast. Sam barely had enough time to react before his brother spun him around and wrenched his arm up behind his back, locking it in place; the muscles in Sam's shoulder rebelled against the strain and he cried out, and then he was kicked down to his knees onto the rough carpet at their feet.

Sam tensed when hot breath tickled the side of his neck. Dean spoke then, his voice quiet and deadly. "The game has only just begun for you, my child." The words sent an icy chill up the younger hunter's spine. No sooner were they said than the tight hold on Sam's arm was released and he felt Dean move away.

Not one to waste a chance given to him, Sam took advantage of his moment of freedom and jumped up to his feet. He spun around to face his brother – or _whoever_ it was at that particular moment – expecting some sort of confrontation, but Dean was just standing there, arms hanging limply at his sides in the most non-aggressive manner.

Sam took a hesitant step forward. "Dean?" As he got closer, he saw that the older Winchester's expression was disturbingly blank; there was no emotion, only an unnatural nothingness. The brother who had practically raised Sam his entire life didn't, for all intents and purposes, appear to be at home. A deep tremor passing through Dean's body stopped Sam in his tracks only a few feet away from reaching him; it was followed by a long, shuddering breath. _Now what?_ he thought to himself.

Dean's brows drew together and he blinked a few times. A tangle of emotions suddenly spilled into the previously vacant features, the most prominent of which was confusion.

"Sammy?" The name came out on a cracked whisper.

Sam closed the gap between himself and Dean in two long strides and pulled the man into a hug. "Dean. Shit, man, I thought I lost you." He held onto his brother for maybe a bit longer than was necessary. Call him selfish, but he needed the physical reassurance to help calm himself down after what had just happened. "Y'okay?" he asked as he pulled away.

Dean felt dazed for a moment and then a cold, hard knot began to form in the pit of his stomach; he ignored the ache in his ribs from Sam's too tight embrace. "Fuck!" he swore as the realization of what had happened sank in. "What did he do, Sam? Did he hurt you?"

"I'm fine, Dean. You..._he_…didn't hurt me."

His brother was holding something back. Just the fact that the first thing Sam did when he came around was hug him told Dean something had happened. _Goddammit! He _had used Dean to get to Sam.

* * *

_…May 1, 1996…_

Dean tackled Sam to the floor and held him down, giving him a noogie while he was at it.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, twisting under his brother's heavy weight. "Dude, get offa me!"

"Nope. Not gonna happen. You shrank my favorite Zeppelin shirt."

Sam bucked up and squirmed, finally managing to get one arm free, but Dean caught it and resituated himself higher on Sam's back. – He had to admit, Sam was getting harder to hold down these days. – Dean gave another solid scuff of his knuckles through Sam's unruly hair.

"Ow, you asshole!"

"You better not let Dad hear you talking like that."

"Fuck you!"

Sam let loose then, asserting a strength the older Winchester still wasn't used to his little brother having; and Dean suddenly found himself face down on the floor, nose digging into the worn nap of the carpet, with his brother's boney knee digging down into the small of his back; his wrists were held securely over his head in Sam's strong grip. _Holy shit._ Dean twisted and writhed under the kid, mirroring Sam's desperate moves from a minute ago.

Sam chuckled in triumph as he held his brother down. "You were the last one to do the laundry. Don't blame me." – Sam knew full well that that wasn't true. He himself had done the laundry last; payback had been gotten. – "Maybe you're just gettin' fat," he added with a chuckle as he wiggled his knee, pressing in a little harder, but not enough to really hurt his brother. "Take it back and I'll consider letting you go."

Dean laughed. He wasn't about to give in that easily. He _was_ a Winchester after all. "Don't think so, Sammy." Sam could move fast, but Dean still had more weight, muscle, and an extra seven or so inches on his brother…plus experience.

Sam's eyes were wide when he found himself back down in his original position with Dean over him again. He couldn't wait until he hit his growth spurt; he was so going to get Dean back then. "You suck," Sam panted in resignation as he let his body go lax under his brother.

"No, actually, I think you do. You're gettin' sloppy on those moves, kiddo." When Dean felt his brother relax under him, he reached down and ruffled Sam's hair before backing off and standing up. If one of them got hurt screwing around, their dad would have his head. "And I know for a fact you were the last one to do the laundry. You owe me a new shirt."

Sam rolled over and stared up at Dean. "Serves you right for making me do your chores while you ran off to play kissy-face with that cheerleader. I hope it was worth it." He smirked, knowing he was openly admitting his guilt.

That earned him a pillow to the head. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

* * *

Their brotherly moment was overshadowed by the fact that it was Sam's thirteenth birthday tomorrow. It was the Winchester's 'Coming of Age'. Dean had gotten his first 'real' gun then, and it was also the time when he had started rigorously training to become the hunter he was today. Not long after, he had started to regularly go on jobs with their father (when he wasn't in school). Now it was Sam's turn. John would be back late tonight from his latest solo gig and tomorrow Sam's whole life would change.

Dean wanted one last night to have some fun with his little brother before Sam's innocence became a thing of the past. Having gone out earlier, he had rented "Se7en" and "Die Hard: With a Vengeance" and had a full night of T.V. entertainment planned.

But things didn't quite go as expected…

Sam almost didn't make it to his thirteenth birthday.

It took years for Dean to get over it; it nearly broke him.

* * *

It had been almost a year since Dean had last seen the Thin Man. So far, it was the longest stretch of time between visits and he had hoped that maybe the creature had gotten bored with him and had moved on. But when had Winchester luck ever been that good?

Sam was back at the room making a bag of microwavable popcorn – they were going to watch "Se7en" first – and Dean had gone across the parking lot to retrieve a couple of sodas from the vending machine.

Two cans already in hand, he was currently eying the snack machine. A smile lit up Dean's face when he saw the two-pack of Hostess cupcakes…perfect for Sam's impromptu birthday cake. Heaven knew John wasn't going to get the youngest Winchester anything for his big day, nothing except some long – and probably painful – training exercises, and maybe his own gun if the kid was lucky.

The coins were loud in the silent evening as he slotted them into the machine. Dean pushed the selection button and watched as the coil slowly released its hold on the chocolate snack before sending the package into the catch bin below. The light above him flickered precariously as he waited and his eyes re-focused briefly on the glass in front of him.

The cans of soda slipped out of his fingers, one bursting open as it hit the ground and spraying its contents on the shin of Dean's jeans; he didn't notice. Instead, the bottom of his stomach dropped out. He didn't move…_couldn't_.

_"Mine,"_ the quiet voice hissed in his head.

A sudden pressure built up in Dean's mind and then he knew no more.

* * *

"Dean!" a gruff, but familiar voice cut into the dark void of his mind, causing Dean to stir. "Dean, son, wake up."

Dean felt himself being shaken lightly. A warm hand fell to his face and he felt its calloused palm curl around his cheek; there was a slight tremble in the fingers.

When he blinked his eyes open, he saw his dad's worried brown eyes staring down at him. "Dad?" Dean tried to sit up, but the man held him where he was. And then he noticed the cold steel of handcuffs biting into his wrists. Anxious green eyes blinked up at the elder Winchester then. "Dad, what's goin' on?"

"I was hopin' you'd tell me. I got back here and..." The older man dropped his head, looking down at the floor. When he looked back up at Dean, the lines on his face seemed to have deepened; he looked older, worn out. "God, Dean… Sam…what you were doing to him…"

Dean broke out of John's hold then and backpedaled from the man, sitting up. He looked around the room as he pushed up to his feet somewhat awkwardly with the way his hands were bound behind his back. Sam wasn't anywhere to be seen. "Where is he, Dad? Where's Sammy?"

"I called Bobby. He came and got him."

"Bobby?" The man was three, maybe four hours away. _What the hell had happened?_ He had just gone out to grab a couple of sodas… Dean's thoughts trailed off when it came back to him. "Fuck. – Dad… Oh, god, is he okay? What'd I do to him?" If he had hurt Sam…

"Dean, calm down. Sam's gonna be alright." John stood up and went over to his jacket which was draped over the back of a chair at the small breakfast table. "What do you remember?" he asked as he sifted through the front pocket and pulled out the key to the cuffs.

"Nothing really." Dean lied. Slenderman had made it perfectly clear, time and time again, that if Dean told anyone about him, he would wipe what was left of the Winchesters clear off the map. "I just went out to grab a couple of sodas…"

"Do you remember smelling any sulfur, seeing any black smoke?"

Dean frowned at the odd question and then shook his head 'no'. "Not that I noticed. – Dad, please, what'd I do to him?" Dean had to know, no matter how bad it was.

"Can I trust you if I take those off?" John gestured to the handcuffs.

"I don't know." Really, he didn't know. Dean couldn't remember jack squat after _he_ showed up. Obviously, he'd lost his mind…literally. That pale ass mother fucker had done something to him, gotten into his head. And then he had done something to Sam.

The older hunter assessed Dean for a moment longer; his lips were pressed in a tight line and a muscle along his jaw twitched as he contemplated the risks. "I'll take 'em off, but until I'm sure, I want you to keep your movements slow, hands out where I can see them."

"Yeah, okay. No problem." Dean turned his back to the man and sighed in relief when the cuffs came undone and he felt the blood rushing back into his hands. He brought them around and started to rub some life into them. "So?" he asked again as he sat down at the foot of his and Sam's bed.

John was sitting at the table, rubbing at his temple. He was stalling; Dean could plainly see that. The man didn't want to tell him what had happened.

"Dad? Whatever it is-"

"You were seconds away from killing him." The words were weary, tired. "When I came in the door, he was already unconscious and you were…you had your gun to his head." John pushed up from the table and slammed an open palm into the wall in fury. – Something had gotten to his boys. – The sound reverberated through the tiny room causing the younger Winchester to jump even as his own heart seized at his father's words.

Dean got up and ran into the bathroom where he proceeded to lose the meager contents of his stomach.

* * *

_…Present Day…_

Dean didn't bother going back to bed; he had too much adrenaline coursing through his system to even consider it. Instead, he paced the room non-stop. What little breaks he took were spent standing by the window staring out into the withering darkness.

Sam had dozed off on the bed not too long ago; he hadn't said much more about what had happened. As Dean leaned against the window frame, arms folded over his chest, he glanced at his brother. Sam was slouched over where he had fallen asleep sitting up against the headboard, his long legs stretched out in front of him; one hand was resting in his lap, the other at his side.

A better part of Dean's life had been spent going head-to-head with Slenderman, dealing with the creature on his own. When he was younger, the Thin Man had made threats against his family, scared Dean into keeping his mouth shut about what was going on, the typical bullshit any predator lays on kids. Dean had kept his end of the deal all these years, had said nothing, even if the evil son of a bitch hadn't quite kept up with his end on occasion. That seemed to be the norm when you dealt with supernatural beings; it was like they enjoyed grinding their heel down on you or something. But now that deal was off according to Slendy.

The cards had been re-dealt; a whole new game was on the table now and the thing hadn't wasted its time getting to Sam. The younger Winchester may have denied that he'd been hurt, but Dean could already see the angry, finger-shaped bruising around Sam's wrist; it wasn't pretty. As far as Dean was concerned, war had been declared. It would be bloody – he knew that – but this was going to end…now.

And Dean reluctantly had to admit that Sam was right; this was too much for him to handle alone, always had been. He was going to have to pull his brother in on this one even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. But the younger man had proven, in a short space of time, to be almost as good a hunter as himself; Sam wasn't just some little brat of a kid anymore. Sam could handle it. They'd bring this thing down together.

But that didn't mean Sam had to know everything.

* * *

Sam woke up to the sound of Dean taking a shower. He noticed right off that their bags were packed and placed over by the door; a fresh stack of clothing had been laid at the foot of his bed. It didn't look like Dean had gotten much sleep since everything had gone down last night.

Speaking of, he looked down at his right wrist. There was no way he was going to be able to hide the deep bruising that had blossomed over his flesh. Even long sleeves weren't going to cover it completely. And hell, Dean, being who he was, had probably already seen it.

By the time he gathered himself up enough to get out of bed, the bathroom door opened and Dean walked out into the room, a trail of steam following behind him. He already had his jeans on and was scuffing a threadbare towel through the short spikes of his sand-colored hair. Sam eyed the dark purples and blues covering Dean's bare torso.

Dean caught Sam staring at him. "Why don't you make yourself useful instead of staring at me like I'm the hottest thing you've ever seen." He smirked. "I can't re-wrap these myself." He gestured to his ribs. Before getting in the shower, Dean had popped a few ibuprofen; they had helped take the edge off some, but he was still hurting more than he cared for. Another bout of coughing up a lung had hit him in the shower, too. _That_ had felt wickedly awesome.

"Dude, you are so far from the 'hottest' thing I've ever seen." Sam chuckled as he got up to retrieve the first aid kit for some fresh bandages.

Dean took a seat at the foot of his bed while he waited for his brother. "Your wrist okay? Nothing's sprained or broken, is it?" The bruise had darkened some since he'd first noticed it.

Sam swallowed as he stood up from the weapons duffel where they kept the first aid kit, the box in his hand. "It's alright. Looks worse than it is." In truth, it did hurt – a lot – but he knew the guilt the man would carry if he told him how it had felt like his bones had been grinding together under Dean's too strong grasp.

* * *

Sam was half standing on the floor and half kneeling on the bed so he could reach around Dean to wrap his damaged ribs with careful and steady hands. He noticed as he worked that the man was too quiet; the only noise he made was a groan and a low curse when his cough started to creep up on him once more. (Thankfully for Dean it had receded before it really amounted to much.)

"Dean, really, I'm fine."

"It's not that," Dean mumbled. He chewed on his bottom lip and sighed; his shoulders sagged slightly and he looked down at his lap where he picked at a small hole that was starting in the thigh of his jeans. "I never went back to bed after…"

"I sorta gathered that." Sam passed the bandage under Dean's arm again, keeping silent, letting Dean take this at his own pace.

"I'm…I'm not sure I can stop this thing alone, Sam." There. Dean had said it. He hated that he did, but it was done now. The request for help was out there; Sam would know it for what it was.

Sam paused halfway over Dean's back and held the bandage in place with a hand. Dean was asking for help. "Yeah, alright," he replied quietly with a nod. "We'll put our heads together on this and we'll get it done." And then he looked down and finished up with his task. A few minutes later, Sam slipped the final clips into place.

"Thanks," Dean said as he picked up his t-shirt and tugged it over his head. "I wanna be on the road as soon as we can manage, so why don't you go get a quick shower in. We'll stop somewhere to eat once we get some miles behind us."

Sam hesitated, there were a million and one things he wanted to know, but he wasn't surprised when the man didn't offer up anything more. And Sam knew, if he pushed now, Dean would shut down. There was a delicate balance of give and take with his brother and the man would talk only when he was ready. "Yeah, okay. Just give me ten minutes. Looks like you already got everything packed." Sam got up and stowed the first aid kit away and grabbed the pile of clothes Dean had left out for him before heading off to the bathroom.

"Yeah, all but you, so get your lanky ass movin' already."

Sam quirked a small smile at his brother's comment. Dean was trying to cover what he perceived to be a moment of weakness by smothering it with snarky humor. _Typical,_ he thought to himself. But at least Dean was finally admitting that he needed help.

* * *

When Sam came out of the bathroom, Dean was leaning up against the table, legs crossed at the ankle, and twirling his keys on his index finger. "You have a little problem with the car last night?" _Shit._ He had forgotten all about that. The older man lifted an eyebrow at his hesitation. "Well?"

"Dude, I keep tellin' you to get a second key made for that thing."

"Baby is not a 'thing'; _she's_ my car. And she's not too happy with _you_ right now."

Sam rolled his eyes. Even after all these years, Dean still treated that car like it was an actual person. "Hey, it was either do that or leave _her _at the bar all night."

A muscle in his brother's jaw ticked and Sam waited, daring him to make some sort of sarcastic reply. The man began to open his mouth, causing the younger brother to stand up to his full height and narrow his eyes. Dean snapped his mouth shut then and swallowed; he knew Sam was right.

"Yeah, didn't think so," Sam commented with a knowing smirk as he pushed his feet into his shoes and pulled his t-shirt down over his head. When he was done, Sam tucked his dirty clothes and his toiletry bag into his duffel and zipped it shut. "Well, I'm ready when you are."

"Good. But you still owe me since I had to fix the wires. It's not fun leanin' under the dash with broken ribs, just so you know. And because of that, you're gonna play pack mule today. Hee haw!" Dean threw his head back and cackled as he turned to head out to the car.

"That's a donkey, jackass," Sam called out with a grin.

To that, Dean peeked his head back around the corner. "Mule, donkey, jackass, you; all the same, stubborn pain in the ass." And then he was gone before Sam had a chance to reply.

Sam shook his head and laughed to himself as his brother disappeared again. He pulled his jacket on and shouldered their bags being careful of his wrist. (Somehow he was going to have to keep Dean from seeing how much it was bothering him…just a couple of days was all he needed.) Giving one last glance around the room, Sam followed Dean out to the awaiting Impala. He couldn't say that he wasn't happy to be leaving this place.

* * *

They had been heading west on the interstate for about twenty minutes when Sam shifted in the seat. Dean saw the quick sideways glance from his brother and knew the questions were getting ready to take flight. He cut his brother off before he could get started.

"We'll talk, Sam. Let's just get something to eat first, okay? I need some coffee and something to fill this hole that I call my stomach before we start on the heart-to-hearts."

Sam lifted a brow. _How did Dean do that?_ "Sure, yeah, okay."

"No argument? I'm impressed, Sammy." Dean glanced over to the passenger seat at his brother and winked before looking back out to the road again.

The corners of Sam's mouth twitched with amusement as he shook his head. He didn't bother correcting Dean for the use of his childhood nickname.

* * *

They followed 78W onto 81S and took it right into Harrisburg where Dean exited the highway and located what looked to be their type of 'Mom & Pop' diner. He pulled the Impala into the far end of the parking lot and turned the car off.

It was nearing lunchtime and the place was already bustling with a flurry of activity when they entered the establishment. Dean automatically found a booth near the rear of the building and headed straight to it, peeling out of his jacket and tossing it down beside him as he slid into the cushioned seat, minding his sore ribs.

The brothers didn't bother with menus when the waitress came around to fill their coffees. Instead, Dean graced her with his most pleasant smile, told her they were in a hurry, and placed two orders for the 'Special of the Day': eggs (one sunny side-up for Dean; one scrambled for Sam), home fries, toast, and orange juice.

They made quick work of their meal and didn't bother with the small talk. Things other than who used the last of the toothpaste or how Dean kept leaving certain websites up on Sam's laptop needed to be discussed and couldn't be brought up in a public place like this; there were too many ears.

Dean was scooping up the last of his eggs with his toast when he happened to glance out the window. He thought he may have seen a familiar blank face, but he blinked and it was gone. It could've been _him_ or it might not have been; there was no way to know for certain. He picked up his mug and knocked back the last dregs of his coffee, washing down the sour taste of fear that was suddenly at the back of his throat. When he was done, he wiped his mouth with his napkin and tossed it to the table. "Time to go."

Sam looked up from his mostly finished plate of food. He heard the urgency in Dean's voice and glanced out the window when he saw the man's gaze drift in that direction. There was nothing out there except for a few customers either coming or going. But he knew better. "_Him_?"

Dean nodded. "Pretty sure."

They got up and put their jackets on. Dean paid, leaving a hefty tip since he knew they had rushed their poor waitress and she had managed on taking care of their needs quickly enough without complaint.

Sam might outpace Dean on most days, but he had to pick up his step to keep up with his brother today. Less than five minutes later, they were back on the highway heading west again.

"Any idea on where we're going?"

"I was thinking Jim's place."

"Pastor Jim?"

"Yeah, seems like a safe place to go. Unless you got any other ideas…"

Sam gave it some thought. Two other people besides their father came to mind: Caleb and Bobby. But really, this was more Dean's area of expertise. Sam hadn't seen any of these people in years.

"No, Jim sounds good. Have you called him? Does he know we're coming?"

"Not yet. Couldn't." Dean reached into his coat pocket then and tossed his phone to Sam. "Would've been a little hard to do with that. – We'll have to stop and pick up a new one at some point."

Sam looked down at Dean's phone in his hand. It hadn't survived his brother's encounter with the man in the suit. The screen was shattered and it looked like it had been run over by a car. "Fuck, Dean." His fingers tightened around the small device knowing what kind of pressure it would take to do that. Just the thought of Dean being crushed like that made him sick to his stomach.

Dean knew what Sam was thinking. "Sam, don't. I'm okay, okay?" He flashed a reassuring smile at his brother.

"I know. I just wish I could've done something."

* * *

They had a sixteen plus hour drive ahead of them and if there was a time for their question and answer session, it was now. So far, Sam had kept a respectful silence which Dean was appreciative of considering how impatient the kid usually was. It took the elder Winchester a while to build up enough resolve to start, even if he was only planning on delivering the watered down version. Hopefully, Sam wouldn't spot the holes in his story too quickly.

"So," Dean glanced at Sam before looking back to the road ahead of them, "I'm sure you have a few questions." He heard Sam huff out a small laugh as he shifted in his seat to sit with his back against the door. Dean braced himself for the onslaught.

"That's putting it mildly. – Let's start off with you telling me what this thing is."

That _would _be the most obvious first question. "Sorry. That's the one thing I can't answer because I don't know."

"Shit, Dean." How had Dean lived with this thing for so long and _not _know what it was? "Well, does he at least have a name?"

"Slenderman mostly. But he goes by a few others, too: the Thin Man, the Tall Man, the Operator, the Tree Man, the Pale One..."

"Wow. The dude's got a bit of an identity problem, huh?"

Lifting an eyebrow at that, Dean looked over at Sam. "Maybe just a little." The corner of his lip twitched upward before he turned to the road again. "Shit!"

Before the word was completely out of his mouth, Dean slammed his foot down on the brakes and locked them up causing Sam to fly forward from his sideways position on the seat and slam into the dash pretty damn hard. He heard his brother cry out when he threw his arm out to catch himself and his already bruised wrist and forearm took the brunt of the impact. Dean cursed as he tried to keep his 4,000 lb. baby from slamming into the rear end of the little 50 lb. econobox that had come out of nowhere and suddenly checked up; the moron of a driver obviously hadn't bothered to check his blind spot before cutting out into their lane.

Once he got the car under control, Dean looked over at Sam; his eyes darted down to where his brother was holding his right wrist. "Dude, y'okay?" He glanced back at the road, then to his brother again.

Sam drew his gaze up from his arm and saw the worried expression on Dean's face. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just wasn't expecting to eat the dash is all."

"This is why I take back roads," the older man muttered under his breath. "Highways are where idiots go to commune with all the other idiots." He glared at the driver of the other car as they passed it. He felt like flipping the guy off, but didn't bother. "I think you scored a perfect ten on that one, Sam. You sure you're okay though?"

"Screw you very much, Dean. And I'm fine," Sam insisted. He flexed his fingers and grit his teeth when a sharp pain flared up in his wrist. _Dammit._

Dean continued to watch his brother for as long as he dared to take his eyes from the road. "So if I take you to the shooting range tomorrow, you're gonna be just dandy?" Sam didn't say anything. "Yeah, didn't think so. – You're gonna let me take a look at that later." Sam mumbled something in reply to that, probably some more words insisting on how 'okay' he was. Dean left it alone for now. "So, do you and your perfectly fine wrist have any more questions or are we done for the day?"

Sam shot Dean bitchface number twelve before shifting back in his seat and trying to get comfortable. He attempted to focus on the things he wanted to know instead of the throbbing ache in his wrist. "Alright, so you said he's been stalking you ever since Mom died?"

"Yeah, since Mom…" A slight cough tickled at Dean's throat and he cleared it before continuing. "What else do you wanna know?"

"Well, has it always been like this, you disappearing then reappearing? How'd you manage to keep something like that from Dad? I mean, Dean, you were only four." Sam still couldn't get over that fact.

"No. That shit didn't start until I was something like twelve. But, even then, I think Slendy was just testing the waters; I was only gone for a few minutes at a time, not enough for Dad to ever notice. – And it was easy to keep from Dad. He couldn't see him. I was the only one of us who could."

"Until just recently…"

As soon as the words were said, it was like a switch had been thrown; Dean's whole demeanor changed. Sam watched as emotion flitted over his brother's strong features. The man was warring with something, probably his decision to let Sam in on this whole thing. _Dean and his damn protective, big brother instincts._ That had to be what was going on.

An awkward space of silence filled the car. "Dean?"

Finally, Dean blew out a breath, accepting that there were some blanks he had to fill in. He had, after all, agreed to answer some questions. "Yeah, looks like. Welcome to the club," he mumbled with a heavy layer of sarcasm.

"Yeah, some club. – Anyway, I've been thinking, do you think this, um, Slenderman had something to do with the fires? It seems pretty coincidental."

"No, Sam, I don't." Dean kept his eyes glued to the road. Sam was edging a little too close to questions he didn't want to be answering.

"Should I even ask why you seem so sure about that?"

"I just know, okay." _Because something else started those fires…_

"Sure. I'm so glad you're open to answering all of my questions. But okay, I guess I'll have to take your word for it. What I'm still trying to understand is why you didn't go to Dad about this? Or did you? I'm guessing that's," he gestured to Dean's ribs, "not the first time he's hurt you."

"I couldn't."

"Ookaay…"

Dean groaned. This was getting ridiculous. "Look, in the beginning, all Slendy ever did was show up here and there, watching; that's it. I admit, I was a little creeped out by him when I was little. Hell, I even remember a time or two where I'd wake up and think I saw him in the corner of the room, but he'd do his flicker-y thing," Dean waved his right hand in the air in some gesture Sam figured was supposed to represent Slenderman's ability to disappear at will, "and then he was gone before I really knew he was there. I usually passed it off as my wild imagination.

"There was one time when I _did_ try to point him out to Dad, but since he couldn't see him, Dad just told me to shut my mouth and that I shouldn't lie about stuff like that. After that, I just kept it to myself.

"I think I pissed Slendy off by trying to tell Dad about him. 'Cause after that, I started having some pretty intense nightmares."

"How old were you?" Sam still wanted to know why Dean felt he 'couldn't' go to their father about this. – It couldn't only be because of that one instance. This thing had been after him for over twenty years; the man would've surely believed an older Dean if he had gone to him later. Something wasn't adding up. – But now that his brother was talking, Sam wanted to hear what he had to say.

"I don't know, six, seven? It took me a while to figure out that he was causing the damn things. _He_ was getting into my head, probably had been for a while, I'm sure. Around the time I turned eight, stuff got worse. The shit he started putting up here?" Dean tapped his index finger against his temple. "Images of people dying, Sam. Scared me half to death the first time I saw you."

One of Sam's eyebrows disappeared up under his bangs. "He showed you me dying?"

The muscle along Dean's jaw ticked. "Yeah. It wasn't pretty either. Let's just say Slendy doesn't spare the gruesome details."

"Did you ever try talking to Dad again after that one time? He should've known by then that you wouldn't lie about something like that."

"No."

_Okay, then._ Sam carded long fingers through his hair. He was trying to picture a young Dean carrying this weight on his shoulders all on his own. It made him sick to think of it.

"What happened last night?" Sam asked after a few minutes. He was almost afraid to know. "I know that wasn't you doing that stuff."

"Yeah…that." Dean let out an exasperated sigh. "Mind control. It ranges from minor suggestive shit to me being his marionette with him pulling the damn strings."

_Shit. How the hell had Dean managed to deal with this for so long all by himself? _"How often has he done that?"

"A couple of times." Dean didn't elaborate.

Sam saw something flicker over his brother's profile then. Shame? Regret? Guilt? What else had this Slenderman made his brother do? Had _it_ made Dean hurt other people?

The older man kept his eyes focused on the highway ahead of them. He really didn't want to follow this line of questioning, but he could feel Sam watching him, waiting; Dean adjusted his grip on the steering wheel and concentrated on the road for another handful of miles. He let them pass by in silence.

Sam looked down at his wrist; it felt warm and the ache was still there. He risked pulling his cuff up a little and winced at the swelling. _Fuck._ He drew the sleeve back down. Dean was gonna be all over him later about it. Sam was really starting to worry that something might have finally given in there.

He was still trying to make heads or tails out of why Dean hadn't gone to their father. As Sam was sifting through what Dean had already told him and what he knew about his brother, something occurred to him. "Dean, did he threaten you or something so you wouldn't go to Dad?"

Dean didn't answer right away. Sam studied him from across the seat, watched the man's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. His brother shifted in the seat, causing the leather to softly protest under his weight; Dean looked uncomfortable at the question. Suddenly, Sam thought about what his brother had said last night: _"Because I'm trying to keep him from getting to you."_ It made so much sense now.

"Fuck, Dean. Did he threaten to do something to _me_? Is that why you never said anything, why you didn't tell Dad…or me?"

Dean's jaw clenched when those words fell from Sam's mouth. "You're safe from him, Sam. He can't get to you."

Sam's brow furrowed. _Why would he be any different than Dean?_ "Care to explain how you know that?"

"Because he said so. Maybe that big brain of yours is too much for him to handle."

Sam ignored Dean's quip and pressed on. "But he can use you to get to me…like last night."

It took a minute, but Dean nodded solemnly; he kept his eyes on the road as he spoke. "What happened last night, it's not the first time he's used me as his 'puppet' to get to you. Do you remember the night before your thirteenth birthday?"

"Something happened and Dad had Bobby come get me. I don't remember much about it. All I know is I didn't see you and Dad for a while after that. Bobby had said you and Dad were off on some big hunt. – Shit, Dean, Slenderman had something to do with that?"

"I didn't figure it all out until long after it happened. – I hadn't seen Slendy in close to a year and I thought he might've been gone for good. I was thinking about telling Dad everything." Dean kept his eyes locked on the road as he began to recount that night. "I found out the hard way that he wasn't on a permanent vacation. Maybe he was off stalking others – I don't know – but somehow he knew what I was gonna do and he came back. That night…" The older hunter trailed off, hating the memory of it, of what his father had said he had walked in on. Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles turning white. "Sam, that night I almost killed you. If Dad hadn't gotten back when he did…" That was as far as he would go.

Silence enveloped the interior of the car as Dean's words fell heavily between them. All that could be heard was the steady rumble of the Impala's engine and the familiar creaks of the vehicle as it rolled down the highway.

_Wow._ That was a lot to take in. Sam stared out the window ahead of him; he noticed some dark clouds moving in on the horizon. _Perfect weather for this conversation._ His thoughts drifted to everything that had been happening recently: Dean's disappearances, last night... Why was Slenderman here now? When was the last time Dean had seen _him_? Sam's pile of questions seemed to be growing, not shrinking.

"It wasn't you," Sam said, breaking the quietude. "Dean, you _do_ understand it was _him_, right? You would never hurt me." Dean didn't answer. "Dean?" The younger brother pulled away from the door and slid closer to Dean. He placed a calming hand on the man's arm.

"Yeah," Dean finally said, not sounding too convincing.

That was the best Sam was going to get and he knew it. He dropped his hand to his lap and watched his brother as Dean gnawed on his lower lip. Sam decided to change the subject for now.

"He said something to me last night…while he was, um, 'using' you."

That had Dean snapping his attention over to Sam. His brother hadn't said anything about that. "What, Sam? What did he say to you?"

"Something about the 'game is just beginning'. What'd he mean by that?"

_Fuck. _Dean, by no means, was going to tell Sam what Slenderman had told him while he had him in his clutches. He'd get this taken care of before Slendy got to Sam. "He's just screwing with your head. That's what he does. He tries to break you down, drive you crazy until you can't handle it anymore. Don't worry about it, Sam. He's not gonna have enough time to get that far. Plus you're immune, remember?"

"Yeah, that makes me feel so much better." Sam scooted back to his side of the car. "So if we're gonna take this thing out," he could almost see the relief spread over Dean's entire body at the new direction of their conversation, "you need to tell me everything it can do and what its weaknesses are." He leaned down, unzipped his laptop bag, and pulled out a pen and a notepad. "We'll treat this like any other job: gather the facts and take this piece of shit out."

_If only it would be that easy._

But Dean knew better than that. This was probably going to be one of the hardest jobs in their career. He wasn't even sure they could survive it.

* * *

**Author's Note: **A quick thanks to Riathe Mai for adding to the 'pack mule' banter. *hugs* Oh, and her undying patience, too :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Note:** Please note that I've had to add to the original warning for this fic. Since this is a W.I.P. I can't promise that I know what'll come out of my head from one day to the next. I will try to make sure I warn before a chapter that has any content that's a little harsher than what's on the show itself :)

* * *

***CHAPTER 5***

* * *

When it came to the impersonal stuff, the elder Winchester had had a lot to say. And most of it was pretty damn detailed; Sam had accumulated several pages of notes by the time his brother's well of information had started to run dry. (And his wrist was paying the price; the further down the page, the more his writing looked like chicken scratch.) Dean might not know _what_ it was, but he knewthis creature, and he knew it well.

Sam wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

Dean had encountered Slenderman _a lot_. And from what Sam could gather, the threat to his brother's well-being escalated with every meeting; he had read between the lines and had come to that conclusion on his own. The tension that tightened Dean's features and the set of his shoulders revealed more than his words ever would.

Sam sat there quietly flipping through his notebook, reading over everything Dean had told him. He was curious as to why he himself was supposedly immune to Slenderman and Dean wasn't. Even Dean, with all his knowledge on the thing, had no idea what that was all about, or so he claimed – Sam would have to figure it out later – but what really disturbed him was that his brother had such an intimate relationship with the being, that he'd dealt with this creature alone for practically his entire life.

He scrubbed a hand over his unshaven jaw (he'd forgotten to shave this morning with how fast Dean had gotten them out the door) and stared hard at his written words; his lips compressed into a thin line as he tried to suppress the storm of emotions surging through him. Sam was angry; angry at himself for not ever noticing that something was going on – even if Dean was a sneaky bastard more often than not – and angry at Dean for never telling anyone about this. – He could have been killed, the damn idiot. – Their dad was more than capable of taking just about anything down; Sam was sure he could've dealt with Slenderman before the creature could have harmed any one of them. And then Sam was more than a little saddened. Dean had barely had a childhood as it was, and to be running in fear from this thing like he'd had to was just more than any kid should have to bear all on his own, even Dean.

"Is there a way to kill it," Sam asked after a while. It was the only thing Dean hadn't touched on.

"Dammit, Sam," his brother looked over at him, green eyes hard and inscrutable, "don't you think if I knew how to kill it, it'd be dead by now?"

Dean had a point. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Sam let out a sigh. He was tired; his brain was on overload. And there was still so much more he wanted to know, things more personal than the basic facts of what Slenderman could and couldn't do. He just didn't know how to approach his brother.

"What is it, Sam?"

Sam tucked the notepad and pen back into his bag and sat back in his seat. "There's just so much more I want to know."

"Like what?"

"Like, I don't know, when was the last time you saw this thing…before Fullerton?"

"Does it matter?" Dean replied without taking his eyes from the road.

Sam twisted around in the seat and flashed an angry glare at Dean. _Of course it mattered. _He was so sick and tired of his brother keeping shit from him. "Seriously? Can't you give me a break here? It's so fucking obvious that you're keeping stuff from me. I get it to some degree – I do – but Dean, _you_ asked _me_ for help, remember?"

Dean finally pulled his gaze from the never ending stretch of asphalt head of them and glanced over at Sam briefly. He wet his lips and turned his attention back to the highway before he spoke, voice tight. "It was our last night in Nyack."

Sam sat forward in his seat when it clicked. "He came after you the night I left? Dean…"

"Now don't do that, Sam," Dean interrupted his brother before he could get started on the guilt parade. "Even if you were there, there was nothing you could've done about it. It's long done and over with, in the past."

If things had escalated in the way Sam had assumed they had, that last visit couldn't have been pretty. And he didn't miss the tension that was seeping back into Dean's whole posture now that the subject was back in front of them. "What happened?" Sam let his gaze sweep down to where he knew Dean's broken ribs were bound tightly under several layers of clothing, then back up to his profile.

"Nothing I couldn't handle. Don't worry about it."

"Dean-"

"Not happenin', Sam, so just…don't." Dean's tone was curt and dismissive. There was something else there as well, but Sam couldn't quite pick up on what it was.

He let out a resigned sigh and shook his head. His brother had just closed the door on him; the discussion was over, done. Sam sat back in his seat and rolled his forehead to the cool glass of the window; it felt good against the headache he felt coming on.

* * *

Dean reached over and flicked the radio on, keeping the volume low; it was just enough for some background noise. He spun the dial until something resembling rock came on and then settled back into the seat, legs sprawled out comfortably under the steering wheel.

Outside, the weather had taken a turn for the worse. The sun had disappeared behind the clouds a while back and the steady drone of a cold rain was now beating down on the exterior of the Impala. Sam shifted and wrapped his jacket around himself a little tighter as he watched the hypnotic motion of the windshield wipers sweeping back and forth. Dean hadn't said anything since he'd shut down.

Sam knew the man had left out a lot of the things that Slenderman had done to him – the man had only skirted across the surface of the physical injuries he'd received – but Sam was more than capable of using his imagination and he did what he could to force down the icy bite of fear that was gnawing at him.

A sudden cough from Dean broke him away from his thoughts and Sam regarded his brother with a curious glance; the man was wiping over his mouth with the back of his hand. "What's up with the cough? You gettin' sick?"

Dean hadn't really noticed it before, but now that he was being asked about it, he found that he really was starting to feel a little under the weather. He had been blaming the exhaustion he was feeling on the lack of sleep last night, but there was a deep ache settling into his bones, too. Nausea had made a short appearance after breakfast as well, but it had eventually gone away. "Don't know. Might be a bug or something. I'm not too worried about it."

_That's all we need right now,_ Sam thought to himself."You want me to take over for a while so you can get some rest? I don't mind."

"Nah, I got it for now. We'll break for a late lunch/early dinner in a couple of hours. We can switch out then. – Hey, why don't you make that call to Jim. If he's not around or can't take us in for a couple of days while we figure this thing out, we still have time to work our way over to Sioux Falls. I'm sure Bobby wouldn't mind having us."

"Isn't Bobby mad at us or something?" Sam remembered the last time they were at the man's house. Their father had been arguing loudly with the older hunter while he forced his two teenaged sons into the car at a hurried pace. Sam vaguely remembered a shotgun being pointed at the eldest Winchester.

"He and Dad had a little disagreement. You know how Dad is. He'd butt heads with a damn bull if he thought he was right about something." Dean flashed a grin at that. "Nope, Bobby likes us; he's just not so hot about Dad is all."

Sam smiled remembering what his father was like. "Yeah, he's definitely stubborn." He pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket then and brought up his contact list. Scrolling down to a long unused number, he dialed.

* * *

Sam hung up the phone after a lengthy conversation. Pastor Jim was glad to hear from him and, of course, inquired about Stanford which meant the whole thing with Jess' death had gotten brought up. The man gave Sam his condolences and told him that they were more than welcome to come out to his place. He was actually on his way home from performing an exorcism in Iowa and would be back later this evening.

"He's good with everything. I told him we'd be there tomorrow afternoon some time," Sam said as he tucked his phone back into his pocket and then turned to look out the side window without saying anything else.

Dean immediately picked up on Sam's change of mood; his brother's voice had gotten a little more subdued since Jess' name had been mentioned in his conversation with Jim. He should have known the man would question Sam about school and why he was on the road again as opposed to being in Palo Alto working on his senior year.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I should have made that call. I wasn't thinking."

Sam slouched further down into the seat, hands slipping into his coat pockets as he did. He leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. "It's alright. I would've had to explain things sooner or later," he said with a hint of resignation in his voice.

Dean let out a weary sigh and concentrated on the road ahead of them.

* * *

They stopped just south of Youngstown, Ohio.

Dean found a small diner where they could grab a bite to eat and eased the Impala into a space at the back of the parking lot. When Sam made to get out of the car, Dean grabbed the back of his coat and stopped him from going anywhere.

"Dude, where do you think you're going?"

His brother turned back to him, face scrunched up in confusion. "To eat. Isn't that why we're here?"

"Food can wait. You're gonna let me see that wrist first."

"Dean, no. It's-"

"If it's so 'fine', you won't mind me looking at it."

Sam tossed Dean a heated glare, but gave in. His jacket had to come off and he couldn't suppress the hiss of pain as he pulled his right arm out of the sleeve.

"Yeah, sounding real good there, Sammy."

"Fuck off." Sam mumbled as he worked to get the rest of the way out of his jacket. When he'd divested himself of the garment, he held his arm out to Dean for inspection.

Dean could see the bruising peeking out from under the frayed cuff of Sam's hoodie. He dug his teeth into his bottom lip as he reached over and carefully pulled the sleeve back. Guilt immediately washed over him when he saw what was revealed.

Sam's wrist was swollen and covered in varying shades of pinks, reds, purples, and blues; it looked a hell of a lot worse than it had when Dean had last seen it early that morning. He knew this wasn't just from Sam's earlier collision with the dash; that had only helped make what was already there worse. No, this was because of him; he did this.

"Dammit, Sam," Dean growled. He looked up and met a surprisingly sheepish expression on his brother's face.

Sam lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. "Looks worse than it is?" he said somewhat meekly.

"And, you know, I've heard there's such things as angels, too," the older hunter replied, his words laced with sarcasm. "You gotta tell me when shit's this bad."

"Oh, and you do?" Sam snapped back with more than a little bite.

_That was sort of deserved_, Dean thought to himself, but he didn't bother replying as he turned Sam's hand over with a gentleness that only his brother was privy to, calloused fingers trailing lightly over the rainbow of colors. "This is gonna hurt. – You ready?" His moss-green eyes lifted up to look at his brother and he received a quiet nod.

Dean began to steadily press his fingers into Sam's bruised flesh. He quickly, but efficiently, searched for anything that felt like it may have been broken or out of place, and then he maneuvered the joint through its full range of motion. Dean got a whimper in response to that and quickly stopped. When he did, his brother let out the breath he'd been holding.

Sam looked up then, glassy eyes betraying the amount of pain he was in. "Well?" he croaked out and then cleared his throat.

"I don't think it's broken. But you've got some pretty good deep tissue bruising going on, maybe a slight sprain, too. A tight wrap and some ice later should help. You're just gonna have to take it easy for a while." A playful smirk lit up his face then and he waggled an eyebrow. "That means no-"

Sam grimaced and shoved his brother away with his good hand. "Dude, that's just… You're sick. You know that? When are you ever gonna grow up?"

"You love me. Admit it," Dean said with a chuckle as he climbed out of the car and hurried through the downpour to retrieve the first aid supplies from the trunk.

Ten minutes later, Dean had Sam's wrist wrapped almost as well as any doctor could have done and they finally went to get something to eat. By then, both of their stomachs were protesting the wait for food.

* * *

So far, Dean hadn't seen hide nor hair of Slenderman (not that the thing had any hair), but it didn't keep him from being overly cautious, almost to the extent of being paranoid. It was starting to rub off on Sam, too. Anyone paying too much attention to the two handsome, young men sitting in the rear, corner booth would think they had something to hide.

"So, I think we'll get to Elkhart and crash there for the night. You okay with that?" Dean took another bite out of his bacon cheeseburger and chewed as he waited for his brother to respond; Sam would be driving that leg of the trip.

Sam picked at his salad and popped a crouton into his mouth. Now that he had something to eat, he found that he didn't have much of an appetite. "That'll get us like halfway there, right?"

Dean swallowed his food and took a sip of his soda. "Something like that." His nose began to tickle and he pulled a napkin from its holder to wipe at it. It came back with a spot of blood on it. "Son of a bitch," he growled.

"What?" Sam looked up from his dish, brow furrowed in question. And then his eyes fell to the bright, red splotch on the paper napkin. "Dean?"

Dean grabbed a fresh napkin and pinched his nose, tilting his head back. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it," he said, voice nasally.

Sam pushed a cherry tomato aside and stabbed at a few leaves of romaine lettuce with his fork; he remained quiet as he continued to eat, trying to act like he wasn't paying any attention to what was going on across the table. His brother hardly ever got bloody noses unless he had gotten a fist – or a boot, forehead, floor, wall…the list could go on and on – in the face first. The younger hunter kept his eyes turned down to the notepad he'd brought in with him, skimming over the notes he'd taken earlier.

Slenderman sounded like he was basically out of their league…or as Dean would say, 'a little above their pay grade'. The things it could do were so beyond what they'd ever dealt with before. And Dean's description of the creature made it sound like an entirely different entity from the one Sam had been seeing for the last couple of months. Dean's was a vicious and deadly predator; Sam's was a silent (and relatively harmless) watcher.

_Why is it so much worse with Dean?_

Sam wanted to drill his brother about what had happened the night he left for Stanford. The few puzzle pieces Sam had put together told him the encounter was more than likely anything but amicable; it should have been outright dangerous. With the way Dean had cut their earlier conversation off so abruptly, Sam wasn't sure his brother would ever tell him what had happened. And if it had gone to the extent Sam guessed it should have, how did their father not know what was going on?

His eyes drifted back up to the older man who was now wiping his nose off; another small cough erupted from Dean as he did so. It was then that Sam noticed his brother's eyes were red like he'd been rubbing them too much or something and his skin seemed a little paler than it usually was. (Dean had always been the fairer of the two brothers.)

"You're not looking so good. You sure you wanna sit in the car for another four hours?"

"What, a man gets a bloody nose and you think he's dying?" Dean smirked. "It's either allergies or the damn weather change. I'm fine. Stow away the mother hen, dude." He took another bite of his burger and ignored the scowl his brother was giving him from across the table.

_Or something else_, Sam thought darkly. Dean hadn't mentioned anything about whether or not there were any physical side-effects from Slenderman being around – maybe he honestly didn't know – but Sam would bet his life on it that Dean's apparent 'illness' had something to do with the creature.

* * *

Four and a half hours later, Sam pulled up outside a small motel just off the highway. Its neon sign was startlingly garish in the dreary evening and reflected off the hood of the car in vibrant streaks of green and blue. The rain hadn't let up yet; as a matter of fact, it had gotten worse the further west they went – it was borderline freezing rain now – making the driving all that much more fun.

He looked over to where Dean was softly snoring. Small circles of condensation formed on the passenger window with his every exhale before they shrunk and then bloomed again with the next breath. Every now and then a cough would sneak up on the older man, but then he'd settle back down to sleep.

Dean needed the rest, so Sam left him to it as he opened the door to get out. He pulled his jacket up over his head as he tried to close the door as quietly as he could (which was almost impossible what with the way the doors creaked and groaned with every opening and closing) before taking quick, ground-eating strides into the motel's front office.

* * *

_Dean was walking through a forest – Why couldn't Slenderman change the scenery once in a while? – and it appeared to be some time late in the middle of the night. He looked around, taking in his current surroundings. A thick mist covered the ground at his feet like a dense, London fog. There was no sound except for the fall of his booted footsteps crunching through the stale autumn leaves which carpeted the forest floor._

_The hairs on the back of Dean's neck prickled and a chilled sense of foreboding rippled across his shoulder blades causing him to shiver. He knew the creature was out there; he just didn't know where. The worst part about all of this was that Dean didn't know if this was reality or a dream. He couldn't remember how he'd even gotten here…wherever here was._

He_ could be hiding anywhere; the Thin Man was a master at disappearing into the proverbial woodwork. Dean eyed the tall, slender trees surrounding him. For all he knew, ol' Slendy was one of them, those freakishly long limbs of his imitating the spindly, naked branches stretched out above._

_"Where are you, you fuckin' skinny bastard?" he growled as he continued to move forward into the pitch of night._

_Without even reaching for it, Dean knew he was unarmed; the heavy and familiar weight of his Colt was absent from the small of his back…not that he thought it would do any good against his foe…although it would have made him feel much better to have the gun in his hand._

_"Dean?" Sam's voice suddenly cut through the silence like a shard of glass._

_"Sammy?" the word fell from Dean's lips quietly. _Oh, god, I hope this is just a dream_. "Sam?"_

_"Dean, help me…please." His brother's voice was broken, pleading…pained._

_The sound came from behind Dean and he spun on his heel. "Sammy?" The heavy curtain of darkness surrounding him seemed to absorb the name as he called out to his brother._

_Dean increased his pace, began to run towards where he thought his brother was. He ran recklessly through the tangle of tree branches, unable to see where he was going; they snagged at his jacket and scratched at his face and hands. "Where are you, little brother?" _

_He stopped, chest heaving as it tried to bring in deep gulps of oxygen; the strong scent of pine needles and decaying leaves filled his nose, waking up sense memories and reminding him of better days, days when he and Sam were younger and were allowed to act like kids._

_"Dean… He's here." Dean swiveled to his left, reveries forgotten. His brother was closer now._

_"Keep talking, Sammy. I can't find you if I can't hear you."_

_"Please." A sob cut into the word. It was followed by a shrill scream that echoed out into the forest; Sam's scream._

_"Goddammit!" Dean took off in the direction of his brother's agonized screech; his heart was pounding behind his eardrums. And then he tripped over something solid and landed hard on the ground, skidding into the coarse and unforgiving dirt. Pain flared up on the palms of his hands as sharp rocks dug into them and Dean grunted. He quickly rolled over and then crawled blindly on hands and knees towards whatever it was that he had stumbled over._

_And then he found it…_

_Short, ragged breaths caused the warm body under his searching hands to shudder. His fingers slipped through a hot, sticky mess of blood-soaked cotton as he searched for the face he knew all too well. "Sammy? Oh, god, Sam."_

_"Dean." Sam coughed wetly under Dean's touch._

_"I'm here." Dean's thumb slid through the slick of blood on the younger man's cheek as he spoke, trying to keep his voice steady. "Tell me what you need, little brother. What'd he do to you?"_

_"It hurts, Dean. Make it go away." The younger man's words were feeble and weak. His voice was growing softer by the second as his life blood pumped out of the many wounds covering his injured body._

_"Sammy, you hang in there. We'll find a way out of this." Dean looked around them, desperate. But there was nothing, no possible way he could fix this situation. – He prayed this wasn't real. – His attention was drawn back down to his dying brother when a hand came up and clutched weakly at his._

_"Don't leave me, Dean." Sam's breath hitched then and he cried out, "D-Dean, h-he's b-back." Another sob escaped from his lips as he fought to breathe through the pool of blood collecting in his throat._

_Dean looked up and his eyes widened when he saw the pale visage peering down at them._

* * *

Sam pulled the car around and brought it to a stop in front of their room for the night. Dean was starting to wake up; the younger brother could hear soft mumbles coming from the man. After he shifted the car into park and pulled the keys from the ignition, Sam reached over and shook Dean by the shoulder.

"Dean, we're here."

There was no response. Under the luminous glow of the parking lot light above the car, Sam could see Dean's features were twisted with what appeared to be distress; his eyelashes were wet with unshed tears.

"Oh, shit," he said as the realization of what was going on hit him. "Dean, wake up!" Sam redoubled his efforts in waking up his brother when he didn't respond. "Dean!"

The older hunter started to fight Sam, hands flying up and grasping at him. "Get offa him, you son of a bitch!" he snarled. His breath was heavy and perspiration was beginning to break out on his forehead.

"Dean, it's me. Wake up! You're dreaming!" Sam fought to get Dean under control before one or both of them got hurt. Even asleep, his brother was hard to hold down, but then Sam was handicapped as well, only really being able to use his left hand.

Finally, Dean's efforts started to ease up under Sam and the man's eyes slowly blinked open. "Sammy?"

Sam moved back some, giving his brother a little space. "You were having another nightmare. I think _he_ got to you again."

"Fuck," Dean muttered.

Sam watched Dean as the man stared down at his trembling hands, like he was seeing something that wasn't there. "That bad, huh?"

Dean cursed again before grabbing at the door handle and wrenching the door open. He climbed out of the car before Sam could say anything more. But the younger Winchester was right on his heels, jumping out of the driver's side door and following him.

"Dean, c'mon, talk to me, man," he pleaded. "I thought we were doing this together." Dean didn't answer. Instead, he pulled his wallet out and started fishing through it for something with shaking hands. "Dean…" Sam had now rounded the front end of the car and was closing in on his brother. He saw what Dean was doing and shook his head.

As he approached his brother, Sam reached out to hand the man his key card, the one he hadn't given him yet, the one Dean was looking for in his wallet. The older hunter reacted – apparently, Sam had gotten too close, too soon – and Dean spun around on him, roughly shoving him back a step.

"Back off, Sam." When Dean noticed the card in Sam's hand, he looked up at his brother. Something in his expression changed then; he looked worn out…defeated almost. But the flare of vehemence was still in his voice when he spoke up again; it didn't seem directed at Sam though. "You really wanna know what _he _did this time, and – _fuck_ – how about every other time while we're at it? Might as well get it all out now while I'm talking, right?" The initial heat of his words was starting to wear off as he continued. "He forced me to…" Dean cleared his throat to cover the waver in his voice, but his burning green eyes were still overbright with emotion, betraying the anguish that he was trying unsuccessfully to hide from his too observant little brother. "…to watch you die…_again_. That's what I dream about, you dying…over and over. He knows you're my weakness, always has. That's how he gets to me. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?" The older man stuffed his wallet back into his pocket and glared at Sam.

Sam saw right through Dean's guise of impassioned fury. His brother had been rattled by his most recent dream; it was all right there in his eyes, the open windows to his soul. Dean couldn't hide from Sam, no matter how hard he tried.

The younger brother reached down and took one of Dean's trembling hands into his own then; he clenched his jaw with stubborn determination and held tight when the man tried to pull away. Sam brought it up to rest over the strong and steady beat of his heart. "I'm right here, Dean. Feel that?" Dean calmed down after a brief struggle, giving in, and then nodded. "I'm right here in front of you, safe and alive." Sam released the man's hand when he was sure his brother understood that.

It took a moment longer before Dean clenched his fingers and pulled his hand back to himself.

* * *

While Sam took care of unpacking the car and warding the room, Dean lost himself in a hot shower. It was all he could think of doing to de-stress after his most recent nightmare. – Slendy was working his magic on him and Dean was pissed that he'd gotten as shaken up as he had; he was also less than pleased that he'd lost it in front of his brother the way he had. – As he turned off the spray of water and stepped out onto the cold tile, he thought about his decision to let Sam in on this 'job'.

His brother didn't have the slightest clue what this creature was capable of. Granted, Dean himself was to blame for most of that; he just couldn't tell Sam everything. Like he'd told the younger man earlier, they'd take care of the Thin Man before things got out of control; Dean would make sure of that…no matter what he had to do. He'd just have to pray like hell that Slendy didn't get his hands on Sam before then…do to his brother what he'd done to Dean that last time three years ago, and could potentially do again.

One thing they had going for them was that Slenderman couldn't get into Sam's head by his own admission; he couldn't draw Sam in with any type of mind control. But that didn't mean he couldn't just show up whenever and take the younger Winchester by force as was his usual modus operandi. All Slendy needed was for Sam to get close enough.

But Sam knew better than to get too damn close to something like Slendy.

Dean wiped the steam from the mirror with a hand towel and stared at himself. He looked like shit; he had dark circles under his eyes and they were also bloodshot. (It looked like he'd had a hard night out on the town and was paying for it…which is what he'd much rather have had happened; it would have been a hell of a lot more fun.) And, yeah, he _did _look a little too pale.

He really hoped he wasn't coming down with something.

* * *

"How're you holdin' up?" Sam asked as he made the final pass over Dean's chest with fresh bandages. He was really kind of surprised that his brother was still allowing him to do this. The man must've been hurting more than he was letting on, but then again, broken ribs always hurt like a bitch; Sam had had his share a time or two.

"Sore, but I'll live. – You?"

Sam glanced down at his wrapped wrist. He hadn't iced it like he probably should have, but it felt like the swelling had gone down some over the last few hours. "Better."

"Good." Dean took a sip from his beer and then rested it on his thigh; he let his thumb trace a circle over the lip of the bottle. "You should probably get some sleep. We got another long ride ahead of us tomorrow."

Sam could see Dean's earlier nightmare was still weighing heavily on him; he probably wasn't going to be too sociable for the rest of the evening because of it. And, honestly, the younger hunter was okay with that. (He'd needed time for himself after Jess and Dean had been kind enough to give it to him. Fair was fair.) The problem was, he wasn't exactly tired.

"I think I'm gonna start sorting through my notes and check a few things out on the computer before packing it in." They needed a game plan before _he_ showed up again.

"Whatever you need to do, Sam," Dean drawled out tiredly.

After Sam fastened the last clip on the bandage, he gave Dean a soft pat on the back of his shoulder. "All set."

Dean grumbled a 'thanks' before getting up and tugging on a shirt. He set his empty bottle on the nightstand before walking over to his duffel bag which was still on the floor by the door. He squatted down and began to rummage through it for something. After a minute of not finding whatever it was, Dean called out to Sam, "Hey, have you seen Dad's journal?" He looked back at Sam.

The younger man glanced up at Dean from where he was booting up the computer. "Oh, crap. Yeah, it's in my bag When you went missing last night, I had it out." Sam pushed his chair back and went to get the book from his duffel. "I was looking to see if Dad-"

"You won't find anything."

Dean had made sure of that, tore those couple of pages right out of their dad's journal even before he'd gone to Stanford to get Sam. His brother didn't need to know what had happened three years ago, the things their father had been a witness to, the things he'd figured out all on his own without any of Dean's input.

Sam pulled the journal out of his bag and smoothed his fingers over the well-worn leather cover of the book for a moment before tossing it to Dean. "Yeah, well, I didn't know that last night, did I?" He couldn't help it. A small flame of anger still licked at his insides. For all the experience Dean had with hunting supernatural shit, he should have known better than to have tried to keep something like this to himself.

* * *

"You're right about one thing; there isn't much out there at all. But I think I figured out why it started following you after Mom died," Sam said, breaking the silence that had settled over the room for the past couple of hours. He sat back in his chair, arching his back until a couple of vertebrae popped and then stretched his arms up over his head, causing his shirt to ride up giving a glimpse of tanned skin.

Dean looked up from where he was browsing their father's journal on his bed. His legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle, and he was propped up on a couple of pillows. "Yeah?" He closed the book, set it in the nightstand, and then picked up the mostly empty beer which was next to it; the condensation from the bottle left a white ring on the table. He drained the last of it before pushing his brother on, "Well, don't keep me in suspense, Alfred. Why?"

One of Sam's classic bitchfaces showed up for a second before he started to explain his findings. "He stalks people who've had some kind of terrible tragedy in their life. I guess Mom's death would fall under that category. That must be why I've been seeing him around, too…with everything that happened with Jess."

Dean didn't seem surprised to hear what Sam had found. "You didn't happen to get lucky and find out how to make him go away, did you?"

Sam picked up on the bit of wry sarcasm. He gave a weak smile. "Sorry. You'll be the first to know if I do though."

"Well, get movin' on it geekboy. See if you can find something I haven't after twenty-two years." Dean pushed up out of bed and went to the refrigerator to grab another beer. He was glad this place had a kitchenette. Warm beer sucked ass, even in December. "You want one?"

"Yeah, thanks." Sam reached a hand back up over his shoulder and closed his fingers around the cold bottle when he felt Dean place it in his hand; he saw that his brother had already popped the cap off for him. Sam took a long pull from it and then turned in his seat to face the kitchenette where the older man was leaning up against the counter.

Dean looked like he was back to his normal self. The effects of the nightmare seemed to have diminished for the most part. That was one thing about his brother; he always had this way of bouncing back, no matter what happened.

Sam knew he was poking a hornet's nest with a stick, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. "You ever gonna tell me what happened…the night I left?"

* * *

_…August 28, 2002…_

They were back at the safe house in Nyack, New York after finally locating the mysterious John Dee. And now Dean's world was being turned upside down…

Sam had just stormed out the front door after confronting their father about the same old bullshit. Sam had threatened to leave…again…this time for Stanford; the kid had a full ride. John Winchester's final words still rang deafeningly in Dean's head. "You walk out that door, don't bother coming back!" They were so final.

"Sam, wait!" Dean ran out the door after his brother – it slammed shut with a loud _bang_ behind him – and he grabbed Sam by the sleeve, hauling the younger man to a stop.

Sam spun around on him. Dean was expecting some version of emo-Sam, was expecting tears, but that wasn't what he saw. He actually stumbled back a step when his brother turned on him. Sam was angry. A cold fury glinted in his eyes; his jaw was clenched tightly; deep lines bracketed his mouth, replacing the soft laugh lines which were normally there.

"Don't try to talk me back, Dean."

"Sam, you just don't understand-"

"I don't- Can't you see how he treats me? – I'm sorry. I'm not you, Dean." Sam hefted his duffel back onto his shoulder from where it had started to slip.

"I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but I'm telling you, he _loves_ you."

The younger man's face twisted, full of pain, remorse, sadness. "Everything I do… It turns to crap. I nearly got us killed tonight. – I can't do _anything_ right, no matter how hard I try." A tear leaked from his eye then. "I'm not like you, Dean. I'm not perfect. I'm a screw-up."

"Sam… I'm the screw-up. You just have to have faith. He's doing all of this for you. For us."

Sam wiped angrily at the betraying drop of moisture on his cheek and narrowed his eyes at Dean. "No. He's not. All Dad cares about is _himself._ – Hunting this thing that killed Mom. He's not going to stop until it's dead. It's slow-motion suicide and he's dragging us with him. – I'm not going down, Dean, not with him. And you shouldn't either."

Dean hesitated at Sam's words. If there was some way he could make Sam understand… But he knew there wasn't. Letting out a resigned breath, he looked up at his brother. (When had the kid gotten so freakin' tall?) "I can't leave Dad alone, Sam. He needs me."

Sam huffed out an irritated breath and turned then. "Yeah, you go on thinking that. – Later, Dean." The younger Winchester started walking down the dark road in the direction of the nearest bus station.

Dean stood there watching him. There was nothing he could do. "Later."

* * *

Dean walked back into the house. It was empty. His father was gone. All that was left were the keys to the Impala.

"Fuck!" Dean shouted into the silence. How had he just lost everything in less than an hour? He sagged down into a dusty, old cushioned chair in what was once a living room and closed his eyes.

He must have dozed off. When Dean opened his eyes again, John was sitting at the kitchen table bathed in the soft glow of a lantern.

"Dad? Shit, man, I thought you left." Dean rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, clearing the sleep from them.

"I went for a walk." The lie was so obviously blatant, but Dean didn't bother pointing that out. The eldest Winchester looked up at his son. He looked tired. And, god, he looked like he'd aged ten years. His eyes had lost that hunger. And Dean could have sworn he saw a glimmer of tears there before the man smoothed a hand over his face and scratched at the scruff on his chin. "We're gonna head out in the morning. There's a job in Holland, Michigan. All those damn UFO sightings over the lake. If only that's what they were…"

Dean sat up and pushed out of the chair then. "So we're just gonna leave? What if Sam decides-"

"Dean, Sam's made up his mind. He's gone. It's just you and me now."

Dean knew his father was speaking the truth. Sam was gone for good this time; he felt it in his gut. He spun and threw a fist into the wall in resigned fury as everything sank in. "Goddamned, son of a bitch!" he yelled as he stormed out of the house, kicking the door closed behind him.

He walked down the gravel driveway to the road. For a while, Dean stared off in the direction where Sam had disappeared. He thought about calling the kid. Maybe he could talk him into coming back. Surely there was something he could say…promise.

"Sammy."

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, emotions running the full gamut from 'A' to 'Z'. At some point Dean noticed his face was wet with tears and he wiped them away with the sleeve of his jacket.

Finally, the young hunter gave in. He couldn't stand out there all night. If they were heading out in the morning, Dean needed his sleep. – He knew his father was probably still sitting at the table looking into their next job. The man would let him have it if he was off his game tomorrow due to lack of sleep. – It was clear that Sam wasn't going to come strolling back down the road. By now, he'd probably hitched a ride and was on a bus to the other end of the country. Dean couldn't help but curse his brother for leaving them – _him_ – like this. Dean turned to head back into the house; he had to accept that things were just going to be different now.

He walked slowly, mind elsewhere, eyes lowered to the ground in front of him. They'd come so close to this exact thing happening several times over the last year, but Dean had always been able to stop it, soothe things over, before his brother ran out the door. He'd failed this time. And because of that, Sam was gone.

As his gaze followed the cracked and weed-ridden sidewalk at his feet, Dean stopped when he saw a shiny pair of black, wing-tipped shoes a pace in front of him. The color drained from his face when he looked up and a choked gasp escaped from his throat. The last thing he was expecting to see stood directly in front of him. It had been more than a year, maybe closer to two, since he'd last seen _him_.

_No, no, not tonight. Why tonight?_

A sharp spike of terror stabbed into Dean before he swallowed it down like a bitter pill and reminded himself that he was 'Dean-friggin-Winchester'; he didn't cower from the supernatural, even Slenderman…not anymore. Sam was gone; Sam was _safe_ now. Now he could go after this son of a bitch without worrying about having to protect his brother.

"You know, your shit's gettin' a little old. And can't you see I'm having a bad fucking night here? Why don't you go bug someone else and leave me the hell alone." It was the first time Dean had acted out in defiance towards the creature. He wasn't sure how it would react, but he'd just lost the most important thing in his life and he couldn't find reason enough to give a damn.

Dean surreptitiously reached around to the small of his back and took hold of his Colt; its grip was warm and reassuring under his fingers. As he drew out the weapon, the hunter didn't take his eyes off of _him_; it was the only way Dean knew how to keep Slenderman from moving closer. (He knew he could try to run, but _it _always caught him.) He hoped the creature wouldn't catch on to what he was doing before he could get a few shots off.

Without blinking an eye, Dean pulled his gun and dumped half the clip into the Thin Man. The violent _crack_ of gunshots resounded through the calm summer evening as bullets ripped through the dark fabric of Slendy's suit in quick succession. Dean lowered his gun afterward, smoke still trailing from its barrel; that should have been enough to do the trick. At near on point-blank range, those shots would have killed most things.

Instead of dropping to the ground dead like it should have, Slenderman's bones started to crack and shift under its pallid skin. The eerie sound shattered the sepulchral silence that followed in the wake of the deafening noise of the previous moments. He grew, adding not just inches, but feet, to his stature, making himself even more menacing and Dean instinctively took several steps back.

_Shit, I think I pissed it off._

"Dean! What the fuck are you doing, trying to bring the cops down on us? Where's your damn head?" Dean could hear the sound of his father's work boots clomping down the stairs of the front porch.

_Oh, god. Dad._ He should have known that the eldest Winchester would hear the gunshots and would come running to see what the racket was all about. "No, Dad. Go back inside!" Dean yelled. _Like he'll listen. The man can't see the Jolly Green Giant wannabe towering over me._

And sure enough, his father's heavy footsteps could be heard moving across the unkempt lawn as the man rushed towards him - _them_.

Shit. "Dad, please. Stay away!" John stopped several feet away from Dean and the younger man could feel his father's eyes on him. "Please, Dad," he pleaded. Dean couldn't look, but he sensed when the elder man realized something serious was going on.

"Dean, what…"

The man's words became a white noise in the background. – Dean had known this standoff with Slendy couldn't last long. – There was a downside to staring at the being and he felt it even as he thought it…the slight tug at his mind. Slenderman was getting into his head and Dean knew it was too late; once you felt him, you were already at his mercy.

The hunter could only watch as the Thin Man's arms spread out and reached toward him. The hypnotic pull in his head had Dean stepping forward into that deadly embrace; there was nothing he could do to stop it.

_Today definitely isn't a good day_, Dean thought less than humorously to himself as the serpentine arms folded around him.

The last thing he remembered before they winked out of sight was his father shouting his name.

"Dean!"

* * *

**Author's Note:** The dialogue for the last flashback dated August, 28, 2002, from the beginning to the first break, was taken from the Supernatural comic book "Beginning's End" written by Andrew Dabb and Daniel Loflin.


End file.
